


Food for the Soul

by I_fucked_your_mom



Series: Country Boy I Love You [6]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, But just a little, But only for fun, Combat, Jealousy, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mysterious Circumstances, and all of that stuff is just there to make you feel sad and stuff, but dont worry itll be fine, but some of it is, eh, fighting and things, gameshow noises, much of this is not to be taken seriously, sad backstory noises, the mafia, they will eat food at some point, whatcha gonna do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_fucked_your_mom/pseuds/I_fucked_your_mom
Summary: Blood.The scent of a massacre.It was Hisoka’s favorite smell.And it was this aroma that clung to Hisoka’s clothes as he and Illumi jumped from rooftop to rooftop, high above the city of Yorknew. Normally after a good massacre, Hisoka would be letting his aura run wild and reveling in the chaos of his own creation. But not this time.This time, Illumi had annoyingly forced him to conceal his aura, and instead of frolicking around the bodies that he had so graciously killed, he was running away from the site of the slaughter. And from the cops no less! With only the sweet scent of blood to comfort his wounded ego.Hisoka huffed in annoyance. This was all Illumi’s fault.The get together fic that literally no one asked for but that came to me in a dream.But do not misunderstand this is not your typical get together fic. This one has mafia wars, poison, and also emotional trauma.technically this is part of the country boy i love you series but it can be read independently
Relationships: Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck
Series: Country Boy I Love You [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680883
Comments: 63
Kudos: 158
Collections: Anime & Manga FFs





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Friends!  
> As you can see i did the procrastination again, so this took a while to get to you. sorry :(  
> I hope it ends up being worth it.

Blood.

The scent of a massacre.

It was Hisoka’s favorite smell.

And it was this aroma that clung to Hisoka’s clothes as he and Illumi jumped from rooftop to rooftop, high above the city of Yorknew. Normally after a good massacre, Hisoka would be letting his aura run wild and reveling in the chaos of his own creation. But not this time. 

This time, Illumi had annoyingly forced him to conceal his aura, and instead of frolicking around the bodies that he had so graciously killed, he was running away from the site of the slaughter. And from the cops no less! With only the sweet scent of blood to comfort his wounded ego. 

Hisoka huffed in annoyance. This was all Illumi’s fault.

\--------

“Illumi.”

Illumi glanced up at his father from where he was perched on the couch in the Zoldyck’s manors expansive living room. He had been reading a book but set it aside to pay full attention to the head of the Zoldyck’s. “Yes father?”

Silva, who generally had little to no interest in his eldest son, didn’t even look up from scrolling on a tablet in his lap as he responded. “I received a job from Don Macario. There is a new gang that is encroaching in his territory and he wants them all taken out. I sent you the mission brief.”

His scrolling halted, and Illumi felt the atmosphere tense. “You know the Don is one of our best customers.” Silva said in a cool tone, “And he specifically requested you for this mission.” 

He leveled a hard stare at Illumi. “I expect you to handle this quickly and efficiently.”

“Of course, father.” Illumi was quick to respond, and Silva nodded once before going back to his scrolling. 

Though slightly annoyed at his father’s dismissal and even more annoyed at his brusque words, Illumi didn’t show it. He was nothing if not efficient, and his father knew this. His words were nothing more than a gibe to try and rile him up. A gibe that he ignored, instead pulling out his phone to read the brief from the Don.

It was true that Don Macario was one of their best customers, often hiring the Zoldycks’ to kill off other mafia heads or politicians in Yorknew city. But this was the first time that he had asked for a whole gang to be taken out. The fact that he had requested Illumi specifically was also odd, as his style of assassination was based on stealth, and taking out an entire gang was anything but stealthy. Illumi supposed this mission had something to do with Mafia politics that he was not yet acquainted with. He did not question it. 

What he did question was the mission brief. Macario had a vast spy network that he used to constantly survey the other gangs in the city, and thus his briefings were usually very detailed and thorough, even going so far as to include the nen-abilities of any guards or acquaintances of the target. Illumi did not always need this extra information, but it was always better to have more than to be caught unawares, he reasoned, so he always appreciated the briefings' meticulous nature. 

What was so odd about this particular brief was the Lack of information. It only had the names and pictures of a few of the gang’s top brass and included nothing of their nen-abilities. There was also nothing said about the number of members in the groups. The only useful information was the location and date of the next gang meeting, with instructions to show up during said meeting and take out anyone that was there. This was not an efficient way to do things at all, Illumi mused to himself. What if one of them is sick or something, then they wouldn’t show up to the meeting.

Illumi puzzled over the state of the Don’s brief for a few moments before looking at his father. “The Don did not say anything else about the mission?”

Silva's tone was even and questioning, almost innocent as he responded, “the mission briefing was not enough?”

Yes, this answer seemed innocent enough, but Illumi could hear the condescending tone beneath the words. Silva had been the strongest person in the room, ever since he was young, and thus did not concern himself with learning the powers of his opponents. Why bother when there was no way they would ever beat him. Illumi, on the other hand, had not always been strong.

As a child he was ungifted in almost every type combat and was a dismal failure in any of the assassination techniques his father and grandfather tried to shove into his young mind. Not only this, but he did not have the cutthroat spirit that his father had expected. Silva would often encourage him to kill the small animals that would occasionally stray through the grounds or invite him to help interrogate a target in the mansions torture chamber, but young Illumi was perfectly happy to instead sit inside and read or draw. 

The only thing in which he did excel was stealth. And, it was this skill that enabled 4-year-old Illumi, hiding behind a vase in the corner of his father's office, to overhear a heated argument between his parents.

“He's just too young,” Kikyo Zoldyck wailed, wheeling around to face her husband as he sat at his desk. She flung herself at him, grabbing his arm. “He will grow into his power.”

“He is weak. Unbecoming of a Zoldyck.” Silva’s words were bluntly stated, his face was tight, “Not only that, he is soft. You think I don’t notice him sneaking out of training to play with the butlers and feeding that stray cat,” his words got more and more heated until he was yelling over Kikyo’s sobs. “He should be throwing rocks at birds and poisoning that damned cat!” 

“He will, he will! He just needs more time.” Kikyo tried to argue, but Silva had had enough, and his final words came out as a roar. 

“Illumi will never be my heir!”

The words hung in the air, and Kikyo fell to the floor continuing to sob quietly. Silva looked down at his sobbing wife from where she had recoiled from him. He knelt down next to her and pulled her into his arms, removing her visor, and wiping away her tears. 

“He will never be my heir,” he said softly, “but we can try again.” He stared deep into her eyes. “We can try as many times as we need.”

But Illumi did not hear these words. When his father yelled that he would never be the heir, his eyes filled with tears and he rushed out of the office, his parents too distracted to notice his less than stealthy exit. His father's words were a cruel awakening to his young mind. He did not really understand what he had done wrong. He was only 4, but whatever it was, it had made Silva so mad that he had yelled at his mother, the only person he never seemed to lash out at. 

He snuck back into his room, trying to hold back tears that had already been shed. Closing the door firmly behind him, he automatically reached for a stuffed animal that he had been gifted by his favorite butler. It had always comforted him in the past, but, considering what he had just heard, it now only served as a reminder of his own weakness. 

That is what his father had said right? He was weak. Cuddling with stuffed animals was weak. Crying was weak. And his father only wanted things that were strong. 

So, he had to become strong.

After that day, Illumi got rid of his stuffed animals and books and color pencils. He repressed his emotions, thinking them to be the cause of his father’s rage, and threw himself into his training. But it was not enough. He was small and had yet to outgrow a child’s clumsiness. And when his brother Milluki was born a year later, the title of heir was transferred to him. 

Illumi was now even more desperate for his fathers’ approval, so he turned to his mother for help. Kikyo was different from Silva and his grandfather. She had grown up as a poor, talentless orphan in Meteor city. But she had survived; and become powerful. 

Illumi trained with her for many years and learned that Kikyo’s true weapon was information- knowing her opponent’s weakness and using it against them. Information was the weapon of choice for the otherwise weak, and Illumi honed this weapon to perfection. He learned how to observe his opponents and determine where they were vulnerable. He learned how to research a target and prepare for any situation in a mission. He learned how to make himself strong.

Resultantly, as Kikyo had predicted, Illumi grew into his power. With the awakening of his nen, he had become an unstoppable force that could unflinchingly take down almost any opponent. However, by this time, Killua had been born, taking the title of heir from Milluki, as well as any affection that Silva had for his first two sons. Though Illumi’s power now rivaled his father’s, with the recent arrival of the rightful, blond-haired heir, the most acknowledgment that Illumi received was an increase in the amount of assassinations that he was assigned.

Illumi was far from the weak child that he used to be, but he had not forgotten what his mother had taught him. Before attempting any assassinations, he would do thorough research on his target and account for any eventualities that may arise. Silva would quietly mock him for being so cautious and doing so much work for something that should be easy, but Illumi chose to ignore the sneers and focus on his missions. Silva could mock, but Illumi’s report of clean and successful assignments spoke for itself. While he may never be the heir of the Zoldyck’s, Illumi could boast that he had completed the highest number of assassinations in the family for several years running. And, even if this feat was due in part to the fact that Silva and Zeno would often pass missions that they did not want to him, it did not diminish the fact that the reputation of the Zoldycks as powerful assassins had been maintained, almost exclusively, by him alone. 

Illumi’s cautious nature was why he enjoyed Don Macario’s usually overly detailed mission briefs, and it was also because of this nature that he was perturbed with the lack of information in the current one. He checked the date of the mission and was especially annoyed. It was in only two days, not leaving him enough time to research the members of the gang he was to kill, as thoroughly as he would like to.

He thought on this for a few moments before getting up from the couch to begin preparations for the mission. He decided to call upon the help of an old acquaintance, just in case, of course. He probably wouldn’t actually need the help, but it never hurt to be safe. And, he was sure this acquaintance would enjoy a good bloodbath.

\---------

Hisoka woke up in a wonderful mood.

The sun was out. The birds were singing. And, when he glanced at his phone, he was delighted to find a text from his dearest Illumi.

Hisoka loved receiving texts from Illumi.

This was mainly because whenever it was that he got one, it was to go do something interesting: like take out a Chimera Ant worshiping cult of high-skilled nen-users or go to the graduation ceremony of a renowned nen martial arts school and kill all the students, leaving their master alive of course to revel in his failure. Even taking the Hunter Exam with him turned out to be infinitely more interesting than he had expected. Whatever Illumi wanted this time must be equally as fun, and Hisoka quickly opened his phone to view the message.

Murder an entire gang?

Yes, please.

Oh, and it was so soon? Illumi’s texts really didn’t disappoint. And, it was a good thing he had gotten this message now. He had spent the last few months locating a pirate that called himself the “King of the Sea” whose nen-ability allowed him to create large and vicious creatures out of water that attacked his enemies. He had used this ability to wreak havoc on the pirate community. Hisoka had been desperate to fight him.

“He really did live up to his name of King of the Sea,” Hisoka reflected, examining a bruise on his arm that he had gotten in the fight and that still hadn’t faded, as he brushed his teeth. Their fight had been vicious and merciless, and that made it ever sweeter when he finally tore him limb from limb. But that fight was several days ago and Hisoka was starting to get bored again.

“Illumi really always does text at the most opportune time,” Hisoka laughed as he stepped into the shower, imagining the bloodbath to come and trying to decide which of his favorite murder outfits to don for the occasion.

“I’m sure to have a ball.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup this is a chaptered fic. And again, Yup i have never written one of those before, so Yup i dont really know what i am doing. 
> 
> But dont worry your pretty little head about it. I don't have a storyboard or outline (because i am not a nerd) but i do have this whole fic already planned out. I plan to post a chapter once the next chapter is already written. So currently i have chapter 2 already written and part of chapter 3 written. As soon as i have finished the 1st draft of chapter 3 and edited chapter 2 i will post chapter 2. Also every chapter will be probably just over 2,000 words.
> 
> I hope you dont mind the interruption in your regularly scheduled country boys doing domestic things. We will be back to that soon. But arent you curious to how they got thee farm? and how they got together in the first place? I know i am so thats why we have this.
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments! Thanks:)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 2 guys! I hope you like it.

Illumi tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Hisoka. He had been at the rendezvous point, 2 rooftops away from the warehouse on the edge of Yorknew city, where the gang meeting was being held, for quite some time now. And, Hisoka was late.

Of course. 

Illumi wasn’t really surprised, as Hisoka was never on time for anything, but that did not stop him from being perturbed about it. Furthermore, the clown wasn’t even random with his lateness. After careful observation of the other, Illumi had determined that there was a direct correlation between how much Hisoka cared about the event he was to attend and his tardiness. The earliest he ever showed up, a standing record of only 10 minutes late, was to fight a gang of ruthless mercenaries that had successfully defeated the vice-chairman of the Hunter’s Association. The latest he had ever arrived, being an hour and a half late, was to fight a nen-master that lived in a swamp (yes, he was powerful but the prospect of wading through the mud was not an attractive one).

Deciding to do some preliminary scouting, Illumi pulled out a pair of binoculars and peered through one of the cloudy windows of the warehouse, squatting behind a water heater on the roof to keep out of sight. He hadn’t had time to do all the research that he would have liked because of the accelerated schedule of the mission, but he did learn that the head of the mob was a hulking man by the name of Jimmy “the wise guy” McGee; A name he was said to have acquired when he was young by talking back to a few too many superiors. Whatever he was doing must have paid off, though, as he had been able to get his own crew and start a “business” in the bustling Yorknew city.

Each of the bosses in Yorknew had a different operation and it was only because they didn’t try to mess with each other’s profits that they were able to have a tentative peace and coexist in the same city. McGee obviously didn’t know about this unspoken rule, or didn’t care, as he had his hands in many baskets: money laundering, drugs, you name it. He had pissed off a lot of important people in his operations, but he was only a minor inconvenience at best to the big bosses of Yorknew city. In total he was only taking less than 1% of profits that should go to the main bosses. To Illumi, it seemed like a rather small amount to kill his whole crew for.

But it was apparently large enough.

Don Macario had put out a hit for them, and Illumi was going to fill it out no matter what….. If only Hisoka would get his ass over here.

“Illumi, dear, you look ridiculous.” Illumi was rudely interrupted from his espionage by the playful voice of a clown behind him.

It’s true that he did have to contort into a strange scrunched up form to be able to keep himself totally concealed from the window he was glaring through, but Hisoka appearing in full view of said window kind of defeated the point. Especially since his outfit was so incredibly gaudy (the gold crop top? really?). Conveniently, no one seemed to be paying the window any mind, so Hisoka’s ostentatious display went unnoticed.

Illumi sighed internally and stood up to greet the clown. He didn’t really care at this point if the gangsters noticed them. Even if they did, they would soon be dead.

He hadn’t learned anything, anyway, by gazing through the window. The meeting looked innocuous enough to him, and though he still was uncomfortable with the fact that he had been unable to do proper research, yesterday being busy with another assignment, he felt confident in knowing that there was not much that could defeat both him and Hisoka. (though he would never tell the clown this; especially after he was 45 minutes late!).

\---------

Hisoka glanced at his clock, noting the time.

It was 7pm.

The exact time that Illumi had asked to rendezvous before the assassination, and the clown was nowhere near dressed.

Well this is a lie, he was actually fully dressed, but these were his casual murder clothes. He needed to change into his massacre clothes.

You would think that these clothes would be black or red, easy colors to wash blood off of, but Hisoka was far too much of a masochist for that. No, these clothes were in exclusively light colors and extremely stainable materials.

You might think, this being the case, that Hisoka, when doing his massacring, would try his best to avoid blood at all costs in an effort to keep his fancy expensive clothes clean; but again you would be wrong. Hisoka relished being covered in the fresh blood of his enemies and went out of his way to become as covered in the sticky red liquid as he could.

Finally, you must be thinking that doing the laundry after one of Hisoka’s infamous MassacresTM would be an absolute nightmare, and here you would be right

....if Hisoka was a normal person, that is.

But since, as we all know, he is not, he actually greatly enjoyed his post-massacre laundry excursions, even going so far as to handwash all the items personally. This may seem like a very strange ritual, but the truth was that Hisoka just loved blood.

The sight.

The scent.

The consistency.

All were just simply marvelous to the… (ahem) bloodthirsty clown-man.

Wait, what time was it again?

7:05?

Oh yes, Hisoka had recently acquired an apartment in Yorknew city, for no other reason than he just kind of just felt like it, and it was only a convenient 5-minute walk from the rendezvous point. If he left now, he would only be 10-minutes late. Still a very disrespectful and despicable act, but better than nothing, right?

“Aw don’t be like that Third Person-Limited Brain Senpai.” Hisoka crooned, a gentle pout on his features.

_Oh, sorry Hisoka-chan, I forgot my place there for a second._

_As I was saying,_ Hisoka was too busy deciding his proper murder outfit to possibly be on time to his rendezvous with Illumi, _a perfectly reasonable and sensible turn of events._ He tried on almost every combination of massacre outfit that he had, and finally settled on a gold silk crop top with a black club and diamond suit embellished on the front. This only took him 20 minutes, so at 7:30 he had finished creating his ensemble and was ready to go.

On his way out the door, he stopped to gaze at himself in the floor length mirror that he kept in his appartment’s small living room. His eyes roamed appreciatively from his high-heeled feet up to his muscular neck, but then he froze. He had forgotten the most important part of his outfit. HIS MAKEUP!

10 minutes later, a gleeful Hisoka bounded out of his apartment. The sun was setting, casting everything in wonderfully luminous glow and making his golden shirt shimmer. He hummed A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood as he moseyed over to where Illumi was waiting for him, approaching from the opposite direction of the warehouse where the gang was congregated. Hisoka glanced up at the rooftops and spotted Illumi scrunched up behind a small water heater, apparently spying on them with a pair of binoculars. He looked absolutely ridiculous and Hisoka designed to tell him exactly that, effortlessly vaulting up onto the rooftop to do so.

This statement was obviously received with annoyance from his assassin companion.

Well that was not quite right. More like his face stayed completely impartial and did not change at all, but his eyes. Eyes that were like the clouds during a storm, constantly swirling to some unknown rhythm.

Well to most they were unknown, but Hisoka had always been observant and after working with Illumi for a long time, he had learned a thing or two about his companion. Normally Illumi’s eyes swirled to the left, but when he was mad or annoyed, they would swirl to the right. Times such as now when Hisoka was 45 minutes late to the rendezvous point.

Hisoka lived for the moments when they swirled to the right.

But these moments were fleeting, and Illumi’s eyes reverted back to their normal swirl as he quickly filled him in on the mission details that he hadn’t already texted. It seemed pretty straightforward to Hisoka; they were to go into the building and kill everyone that was inside, no sweat.

He nodded at the assassin and they silently jumped off the roof, heading for the front door of the building. Here Illumi branched off, to block off all other exits. There was no way for the gangsters to escape now.

A smirk peeled across Hisoka's chiseled features, as he watched the assassin work. Illumi was just soo efficient. Not that Hisoka wasn’t efficient, He just had a different style. And speaking of style…

Hisoka threw open the double doors of the warehouse and strutted in. Oh, how he loved the gaping faces of his future victims. Many of them were too shocked to react, but a few picked up their weapons and charged at him. Unfortunately for them, a sharp, vicious kick from his high-heeled boots to the groin or kneecaps effectively halted their advance. The only one who didn’t react to his fabulous entrance was the boss himself.

Jimmy “the wise guy” McGee was perched on a throne on a raised platform at the front of the room, and he gave off an intimidating aura. There was only one person that stood with him on the platform; she was a small athletic looking girl dressed in black from head to toe. Hisoka would call her pretty if not for the stoic look that adorned her features. When he had flung open the doors, she had moved in front of McGee, so she must have been some kind of bodyguard, despite her short stature.

Sensing that these two were the most interesting people in the room, Hisoka changed his trajectory to head directly towards them. Yes, they would be his first targets.

A card flew through the air aimed directly at McGee’s head. Hisoka leered, there was no way that a normal person would be able to dodge it at this range, so either McGee would die now, or his night was about to get a lot more interesting.

But it was in fact the girl that plucked the card out of the air and flung it back at the magician.

“Fascinating,” the magician purred, and with a wave of his hand, the card evaporated into a small flutter of butterflies. 

By this point, Illumi had entered the warehouse, sealing the front door behind him, and was methodically killing off the cannon fodder at the back of the room. He knew how much Hisoka loved a strong opponent, and whenever they worked together, he would leave the hard work to him while he picked off the goons and sidekicks of the main target.

They made a good team. Hisoka liked that about him.

But back to the matter at hand. The girl was charging at him, smacking card after card out of the air in her advance. It seemed like she would crash right into him but at the last second, she vaulted over his head and kept running right towards…

“Illumi!” Hisoka called out to his companion, “Watch out!” but his voice was muffled as a cloud of black smoke enveloped him. It surrounded him, so dense that he couldn’t fight his way out, and then

He wasn’t in the warehouse anymore.

He wasn’t anywhere anymore.

He floated along in a dark limbo. There was no floor or ceiling, only a blackness that held him and gave him no room to escape.

“This must be McGee’s nen ability,” Hisoka thought as he flung razor sharp cards out into the darkness. Now that he thought of it, there had been a strange smoke emitting from McGee as he had approached them, but as the girl was the more interesting target, he had not really paid McGee himself any mind. But that was his big mistake as he was now stuck in a trap created by the gang leader’s nen ability.

Was Hisoka worried? Nah, he was sure he would figure his way out of here one way or another, but he was confused. Usually when going up against an opponent like this, one with a powerful or unexpected nen-ability, Illumi would let him know about the powers beforehand. He did not need the information, certain that he was powerful enough to defeat any and all foes, and he often even encouraged Illumi Not to tell him about his opponents’ powers before he fought them. But Illumi always insisted, an act that Hisoka would endlessly tease him for, but if nothing else, this information kept him from getting into pickles like this one. Forced into this solitudinous existence, with only his thoughts to be his companions for however long McGee designed to keep him there.

His thoughts yes, but also, his memories.

Hisoka was a busy person, and this was by design. He loathed being bored and therefore filled his time doing anything and everything to keep himself amused. Building towers of cards, creating elaborate outfits, he would do anything to avoid being alone with his thoughts. But it wasn’t really boredom that he was avoiding. It was his memories.

Thinking too much inevitably brought up thoughts of his past, and thoughts of his past inevitably brought up thoughts of his pain. So, he filled his days doing mindless work, only tuning in when he was doing something he genuinely enjoyed. But here in this space, there was nothing to distract him, and he thought. And he suffered.

A blazing light exploded through Hisoka’s eyes, and he was in completely new surroundings. There was a floor again. And lights. And sounds. And people. He was feeling very wobbly trying to adjust back to it. Inside the blackness, it had felt like he floated along for ages, but it really must have only been a few seconds. 

Hisoka’s head snapped up as a voice sounded from just in front of him.

“I trust you had an adequate time in the waiting room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see we are finally getting somewhere now aren't we. Don't you want to find out those sweet sweet juicy details about Hisokas past? Don't you want to find out whats going on with Illumi? Don't you want to know what Jimmy "the wise guy" McGee's nen-ability is? 
> 
> Find out all that and more in the next chapter! (I'm lying only one of these questions will be answered in the next chapter; maybe one and a half if you squint)
> 
> But seriously, i'm being a good fanfic author right now. I know myself and if i stop doing something i will not pick it back up so we are going full speed ahead for this baby. I already have the next chapter written, just gotta edit it (and whoo boy does it need some editing) but dont mind that. What did yall think of This chapter? Anyone want to geuss what happens next?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is fun. I hope you enjoy!

Hisoka’s head snapped up as a woman's voice sounded in front of him.

“I trust you had an adequate time in the waiting room.”

He blinked, squinting at the blurry figure and the voice belonged to. His legs were unsteady from his unexpected zap back into reality, and the lights were too bright for his sensitive eyes, but peering through half closed lids, he was able to determine that the voice belonged to a woman in a formal looking suit. She carried a clipboard and donned a laminated name tag, though Hisoka’s vision was still not adept enough to make out quite what it said. Macie? Maggie? He wasn’t sure, but it definitely started with an M.

“Nope, I actually had a terrible time, thanks.” He petulantly retorted.

“Really?” Marcie sounded puzzled. “The waiting room is supposed to be a neutral territory that can neither help you nor harm you during the competition.”

“Well consider me harmed, cause I had a bad time,” he snapped, frowning back at Marygold.

There was not much that could shake the murderous clown-man known as Hisoka Morrow, but this little stint in the ‘waiting room’ had certainly done the trick. Time alone with his thoughts was not something he would wish on even his worst enemy. 

Yes, Hisoka much preferred staying distracted, and luckily for his foul mood, the place he currently found himself in was quite sufficiently distracting. Eyes finally adjusted, he took in his surroundings to find that he was in a large open room filled with people scurrying around. Some were setting up large movie cameras. Some were working at hair and makeup stands. Some were barking out orders, and yet others were frantically delivering coffee. They all seemed to be concerned with something happening in the back of the room, but there was a curtain blocking his view from what it was.

Margie spoke up again, “Well I am sorry, sir, for any inconvenience that the waiting room caused you. If you would like to write an official complaint, there is a suggestion box by the exit.” Marissa pulled a piece of green cardstock from her pocket and handed it over.

What exit? Hisoka was very pro-exiting, especially if it was back to the massacre he was supposed to be doing with Illumi right now. 

“I think I will,” he snatched the cardstock and Mary pointed him towards the back wall. 

What he found there was not quite what he expected when he usually thought of an exit. There was indeed a bright red Exit sign hanging from the ceiling, but instead of a door, you know a thing that usually has a knob and hinges, he found a door shaped patch of wall that would be indistinguishable from the rest of the wall if not for a slight discoloration. ‘Liar’, he thought, but it was not like he didn’t expect something like this. He was obviously under the effects of some sort of nen-ability right now, and if he had to guess, it would be McGee that was the user. It seemed unlikely that he would escape that easily. But that sure as hell did not mean that he would not complain about it.

He used a conveniently placed pen to scribble down his grievances, and dropped his card into a box by the door labeled Complaints. Lifting the box’s lid revealed a deep blackness that seemed to be pulling in his soul. It almost reminded him of the waiting room, but it was warmer and the darkness seemed to be swirling. ‘How cute’ he thought, ‘almost like Illumi’s eyes.’ He dropped the card into the box. 

As it fluttered into the box’s depths, it started to smolder before lighting on fire, quickly turning to ash. A small puff of smoke from the fire blew into Hisoka’s face. 

Again, he was not all too surprised at this turn of events. He was quite familiar with the blow-up-any-complaints-about-you gag, and he too did not accept any criticisms of his nen-ability. However, to him it seemed quite rude to propose both a nonexistent exit and an incinerator complaint box at the same time. 

He sighed, it looked like if he were to ever get out of here, he would just have to cooperate with this strange lady.

“Sir, if we are to remain on schedule, I need you to move to hair and makeup now.” Marie(?) prompted and ushered Hisoka over to one of the hair and makeup stands.

He was sat down in a chair in front of a lit-up vanity, where several stylists were waiting for him. Graciously, he allowed them to fuss over his appearance, but after glancing in the mirror, he was sure that he would not need to have too much done. He still looked immaculate from getting ready earlier. Something seemed slightly off though.

It wasn’t his little cheeks embellishments- the heart and star were still perfectly placed, without even a hint of smudging. It wasn’t his eyeliner, still sharp enough to cut, and his brows were fine too. So, what was it? One of the stylists began carefully spraying hairspray onto Hisoka’s blue locks. Wait…

It was true that Hisoka had dyed his hair blue a few days ago. But he distinctly remembered that before he went to meet Illumi, he had used texture surprise to color his hair a deep red that better complimented his outfit. So why was it back to blue? 

He reached up a hand and tried to activate texture surprise on his azure locks. 

It didn’t work. 

He grabbed the hairspray can from the stylist and dropped it, expecting bungee gum to bounce it back into his hand. But the can just fell to the ground with a clatter, before rolling under the table.

“Sir I am afraid you will not be able to use your nen in here.” Mazie cut in and Hisoka flung a nen-infused card at her face only to watch it flutter uselessly to the floor. She smirked, “Mr. McGee takes this precaution to ensure that contestants do not try to avoid playing the game. I hope that you do not find this to be an inconvenience.”

Wait? Contestants? The clown glared at the woman, realizing he did not actually know what he was supposed to be doing in this nen-created world. He noticed her name tag, finally, and read it, hoping to gain some answers. It read:

Mandy Sandy- Stage Manager 

So You Think You are a Wise Guy?

His face slowly lit into a wide smile. It looked like things were about to get a lot more interesting.

\-----------

“Illumi!”

The assassin whipped his head around to the source of Hisoka’s voice, only to see the clown enveloped in a cloud of black smoke and disappear.

“What the…” He tried to think before a lithe dark-skinned girl in all black landed lightly in front of the smoke and bolted towards him. She was fast, dodging the barrage of needles that Illumi sent at her approaching figure as she continued to gain ground on him with every passing second. Illumi was taken aback. She was noticeably young, 

and yet could easily dodge his needles. Sure, he was not really trying that hard, but still, impressive. 

He let her advance, sending nen needles towards her right side, and forcing her to dodge left. Right into where he had stuck out his foot to trip her. Unsportsmanlike behavior, he knew, but a good way to gauge how skilled an opponent was.

Besides, he wasn’t above fighting dirty. 

She managed to avoid the foot, but lost her footing, stumbling back a few steps and settling into a fighting stance. Illumi studied the girl. He hadn’t been able to see her properly while she was sprinting around and he took the time to study her features. She was fit and had curly hair cropped in a short style that wasn’t easily grabbed in a fight. She was obviously an experienced fighter despite her age, as dodging his nen-needles proved, but her stance showed that she had never had any formal training, and it was obvious that she had not yet awakened her nen. But what was most surprising was that she couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16 years old. This girl posed no threat to him, though she did seem to remind him of someone.

He stared at her, his swirling eyes peering into her soul. She wanted to flinch, but couldn’t, wouldn’t. Flinching was showing weakness, and if your opponent found out you were weak, then you were as good as dead.

“Shift your left foot back.” Illumi called over.

‘What did he just say?’ The girl shook her head in confusion before defiantly replying. “Why should I?”

“Because” the assassin drew 3 nen needles and hurled them at the girl’s head. “It makes it easier to dodge attacks like this.”

Before she knew what she was doing, the girl indeed shifted her left foot back and leaned to the right allowing the nen needles to fly by her face, only centimeters between them and her. She barely kept herself from gasping, but had no time to think about it as Illumi circled her, throwing needles from all sides.

“Don’t you see how your balance is steadier.” He commented as she bobbed and weaved through the soaring needles, settling back into the new posture after every attack. As he threw, Illumi thought that she really did remind him of someone, but he couldn’t be bothered to figure out who.

She was sweating, trying to ignore his advice.

“You are moving around too much.”

She had to focus on defending herself from his attacks.

“You are just going to tire yourself out quickly this way. When you evade my attack, move as little as possible so you can save your energy for when you strike.”

But his advice was useful and as when she let herself follow his words, it became easier and easier to navigate through his barrage of needles.

Unfortunately for her, the better she became at dodging the needles, the faster and more frequent the needles appeared. They came twice as quickly as before, and she was forced to zigzag through the throng of her fellow gang members, who Illumi was still absentmindedly slaughtering, to avoid them. The needles came close enough to graze her, but none actually broke her skin.

That is, until she changed course, bolting straight for Illumi.

He had been so occupied on advising her on how to improve her form that he had not been paying attention to the fact that she once again had been slowly making up the ground that she had lost and was subtly inching her way towards him.

He threw 2 needles at her, aiming for her head and her heart, but she was able to twist around so they missed her vitals. The one aimed for her head only grazed her cheek, blood spewing in a steady stream and the other lodged deep in her arm. She advanced undeterred and despite her injuries managed to kick Illumi squarely in the chest.

“Yeah!” she let out a little cry of surprise and a small smile played across her face. The smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, but it left a determined glint in her eyes. She jumped back a few paces and squared up to face her opponent once more.

Illumi was lightly touching where she had kicked him, Staring at her with his eyes glazed as if he wasn’t really seeing her. ‘Oh yeah,’ he thought, ‘that’s who she reminded him of…’

Killua.

It was always about Killua.

He had been the one that had trained Killua, not that long ago and Illumi had fallen back into that teacher mentality with this girl without even noticing.

And why wouldn’t he have? Just like the Zoldyck’s missing heir had been, she was talented and strong. She learned quickly and had even used the same technique Killua had first used to get a hit on him. Taking a needle to the arm so he could get close enough to land a kick.

‘It’s almost funny,’ Illumi thought. And so he laughed.

He laughed at the thought of his lost brother. He laughed at his failure to bring said brother home. He laughed at the gall that this girl had to be as powerful as she was. And he laughed because he knew that when he was her age and he had not yet awakened his nen, she would be stronger than him. 

Illumi laughed and laughed and his aura billowed around him, circling slowly, deadly. The harder he laughed the more powerful his aura grew until it was a storm, spiraling out of control and taking out everyone in its path. It grew and grew until…

🎵Bungee Gum-Bungee Gum- Bungee Guuum🎵

It was Illumi’s cellphone.

🎵Bungee Gum-Bungee Gum- Bungee Guuum🎵

It was that annoying personalized ringtone Hisoka had forced him to get. 

🎵Bungee Gum-Bungee Gum- Bungee Guuum🎵

He really fucking hated that ringtone. 

Illumi’s laughter was replaced with annoyance as he pulled the phone from his pocket, the storm of his aura pausing. His phone was usually on silent but Illumi did not take notice of this as he surveyed the damage his out of control aura had created. Most of the mobsters that had been caught in the storm were dead on the floor, and the ones that were still clinging to life looked like they would not be for long.

The girl was lying prone on the floor, but Illumi could see that she was still faintly breathing. After all being the one closest to him and having faced the worst of his wrath, Illumi was surprised by even this.

🎵Bungee Gum-Bungee Gum- Bungee Guuum🎵

Yes, the phone.

Glancing at the ID Illumi was vexed to see Hisoka’s smirking visage gazing back up at him (Hisoka had insisted on providing him a selfie and the ringtone when he had asked for his contact information). He considered not answering, but since he hadn’t heard from the clown in a while, he picked up. 

“~Hey~.”

Illumi hated the clown’s stupid voice. It was exhausting listening to him purr out every sentence. But his familiar tone calmed him, and his aura finally died down. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he suspected it was because he found someone that annoyed him more than the innate talent of this random girl.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what the average cost for hiring a Zoldyck member to do lets say a one person mob assassination would you?” Hisoka crooned through the phone.

“Yes, I do.” Illumi responded, pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course, he knew. He was a member of the Zoldyck family after all. And the one with the highest kill count 7 years running.

“Well, could you tell me?”

Illumi could sense the playful way the clown was surely pouting after his inquiry. He debated whether or not to answer. Hisoka was an obnoxious freak, and probably wanted it for some weird reason that he wouldn’t even try to understand. But there was no way he could ever afford Zoldyck prices, so there was really nothing he could do with it. He made the ill advised choice to tell him.

“For a one-person assassination, the average is 700 million jenny. Of course,” he continued. “additional fees are added if the type of assassination is specified and if the target has particularly good security.”

“So a mafia member with decent security would cost around 725 million?”

“I suppose so,” he said as he kicked the lifeless limb of the nearest gangster, “Though it would be more like 750 million. Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you.” Illumi could practically hear the clown grinning. “I’ll see you soon, Ilumi Zoldyck,” and the clown hung up.

Illumi sighed. Honestly couldn’t care less what Hisoka was up to and walked over to the still prone body of the girl he had been fighting earlier. Oddly enough, it. seemed like she had a stronger aura than before, but he made nothing off it. However, as he approached her, he realized that it was her aura nodes. When he had let go of his control earlier he had accidentally forced her nen to awaken. It was a wonder that she was still alive, but there was no way she would easily recover from this, especially with no one to train her. He went to flip her over, assuming she was unconscious, but her eyes were wide open. 

Wide expressive eyes. Expressive eyes that knew the fear of being weak. Eyes like his mothers, hidden away behind her visor. Eyes like his before he had learned to control them, making them emotionlessly, endlessly spiraling.

For as naturally talented as she was, at some point, just like him, she had been weak. If he had to guess, Illumi would say that she had a backstory similar to his mothers. Born and raised in Meteor city, forced to be strong or die, the girl had used her natural talent and agility to survive. But unlike Illumi when he was younger, this girl picked up fighting as easily as breathing. She improved swiftly, even with minimal training. Like Killua she had the potential to be incredibly powerful with the proper guidance.

McGee had probably seen this and that is why he recruited her to be in his gang. With what her skills could have been, she could have risen to the top of the mafia.

But now she wouldn’t be anything.

Illumi had awakened her nen, accidentally but nonetheless, the process had broken her; crushing her will under the power of his nen. Her eyes were open, and she was breathing but there was nothing but fear in her eyes, her life aura flowing steadily out of her. Her body was limp, and her spirit was shattered.

There was no way she would ever be able to fight again.

“What do you got there?” Hisoka’s lilting voice floated from where he was emerging from another cloud black smoke and holding a dead Jimmy McGee over one shoulder.

“Nothing.” 

Illumi looked once more at the girl before plunging a needle into her brain, killing her instantly.

“Nothing at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi dudes, I'm very very 100% very sorry that i haven't posted this sooner. I have been kind of busy but that is not really a good excuse because kind of busy for me is actually not very busy at all. Also i don't like writing when i am tired but i am always tired so again: bad excuse. 
> 
> On another note. Thank you all for supporting me on my fanfiction journey. All of your kind words really motivate me to keep writing, and i promise the next chapter will not take as long as this one did to come out. 
> 
> On another another note, have you all seen the tiktok someone made about my fanfic? https://www.google.com/url?q=https://vm.tiktok.com/JL3VBMj/&sa=D&source=hangouts&ust=1597204409029000&usg=AFQjCNH4V5hvDUUBeNuKTTpaosRThYeBeg
> 
> There was also some really cool fanart made and i will put the link to the tiktoks in this series description. I hope you are all having a good day!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please im crying i need you to read it please 
> 
> jk im just dramatic

“So You Think You’re a Wise Guy! is filmed in front of a live studio audience.”

A voiceover boomed over the audience facing the brightly lit stage. It listed off the show's sponsors as a neon sign hanging from the ceiling blinked rhythmically] to the sound of the theme music playing in the background. The crowd waved and screamed along animatedly, waiting for the announcement of today’s contestant. And sitting amongst said crowd, and very blatantly sticking out, was a familiar clown politely clapping along to their enthusiastic hollering.

“And now our first contestant!

“Hisoka Morrow! Come on down!” The voiceover, along with the pop of a spotlight, heralded the clown's grand appointment as a contestant. He stood wide-eyed, clutching his chest as if he were surprised. The applause doubled in volume and he stopped to relish the attention for a few moments.

This is where he thrived; a spotlight on him, the crowd wild around him, an opponent he needed to take down. He was a showman after all, and the stage had already been set. It was time to begin his performance.

With a flourish, he vaulted over the crowd, doing a double-flip before landing neatly on the stage. This delighted the audience and several female audience members swooned when he waved charmingly at them, even blowing a few kisses. There was a podium in the middle of the stage, which he casually moved behind, the whole process of his impressive entrance seeming effortless.

This was of course due to the fact that Mandy, the show's stage manager, had made him practice this very entrance several times before the show began. After getting him ready at the hair/makeup stands, she had hastened him around the set, giving him a crash course of the show and preparing him to be a contestant. The stage and audience seating was separated from the rest of the room, which is why he had a hard time initially recognizing where he was: on a gameshow set.

Once he had found out, he was much more cooperative with Mandy. He was not one to say no to being the center of attention, and a gameshow contestant was about as ‘center’ as you could get. So that is how he found himself here, a willing contestant on the hit game show, So You Think You are a Wise Guy?

“And now the man you have all been waiting for,” boomed the overhead speaker with an exaggerated voice. “The very reason we have a show. The founder, creator, and genius behind it all. Your host, Jimmy ‘the Wise Guy’ McGee!”

The fans in the audience went crazy as Jimmy McGee jogged onto the stage looking like the model of a perfect game show host, if not for his generous bulk. He wore an oversized tan suit over a Hawaiian shirt, as well as a bright pink tie. Along with complimenting greasy slicked-back hair and one of those long skinny microphones, the overall look was almost as garish as Hisoka’s own attire. (The clown had to admit, he really admired his bold fashion choices.)

“HELLO, HELLO, HELLO EVERYBODY!” McGee shouted, the skinny mic in his hand seemingly just for show. “Is everyone having a good time?!”

A resounding “YES” answered him.

“Very good then, let’s Start The Shoooow!”

McGee eyed Hisoka, walking over to him and standing in front of his podium. “So sir, you are today's contestant. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“I’m Hisoka Morrow,” Hisoka, still basking in the audience's praise, purred into a mic placed on his podium. He locked eyes with a woman seated at the front of the crowd and winked, "It's a pleasure to meet you." She fainted.

McGee took note of the clown's blatant display of unrestrained charm, apparent by his small grimace. He recovered quickly and flashed an artificial smile. His tone was dismissive, like he had already decided that the clown was not a threat, as he continued. “And what is it that you do?”

This tone Hisoka found quite unpleasant, so he retorted in an equally unpleasant and more passive aggressive manner. “I do?” He blinked obliviously, “I do many things.”

“I mean, what is your job, your occupation? What pays the bills, puts food on the table?” McGee spoke through gritted teeth.

Hisoka, pleased that his response seemed to successfully bother the mobster, smirked before pausing. For as confident as he had just been, he was suddenly struck with a thought: he did not _r_ _eally_ have a job.

Devoting his time to finding and killing strong opponents was hard work, so he didn’t have time for additional occupation. Plus, he still had some money saved up from when he lived at Heaven’s Arena. And if he needed more money, he could just steal it from somewhere. It’s not like he didn’t have experience thieving, but you can’t really say that you are an unemployed sometimes thief on television. 'Wait…' he thought. Sometimes he worked with Illumi, so maybe he could use that? He wasn’t an assassin per say, but maybe he could say he was hired help? Like maybe a mercenary?

‘AH’ he figured it out, “I am a self-employed independent contractor.”

McGee almost scoffed, “And Mr. Self Employed contractor, what exactly can we contract you to do?”

“Uh…" He couldn’t really say murder or steal, so, "lots of things."

McGee laughed out loud at this answer, “Did you hear that folks, this clown is an ‘independent contractor’ that does ‘lots of things.’” His mocking air quotes really drove the point home and the crowd seemed to find this absolutely hilarious. They too erupted with laughter at the poor clown’s expense.

‘That’s nor very nice’ Hisoka thought waving a hand in front of his face. It’s not like being a mobster/game show host was a much better career. “Yes, yes, whatever. Let’s just get on with the show.”

'McGee had better watch out,' he thought to himself. McGee had just gotten on his bad side. He was going down.

“For those of you who are new, So You Think You’re a Wise Guy is a competition where a competitor,” the mobster gestured Hisoka, “tries to answer specialized questions, created by me, ‘Wise Guy’ McGee, to determine whether or not they are, in fact, a wise guy.

“There are 3 rounds, each getting progressively harder and with 5 questions a piece. For every question you get correct, points will be added to your score. If you get a question wrong, on the other hand, points will be added to my score. The last question in every round will be double points.”

A large screen lit up to Hisoka’s right, appearing to be the scoreboard. On it were 2 outlines, one his and the others McGee’s. Each were periodically marked from the feet to the head with a number symbolizing the amount of points. Both outlines were dark currently, but they would gradually fill as the contestants gained points. It was visually pleasing, but not especially helpful to Hisoka, who was scheming on how best to win/kill 'Wise Guy" McGee.

“At the end of the game,” he continued, “if your score is higher than mine, then you win and your nen will be returned to you.”

He turned to Hisoka, and the polite gameshow host air returned. "Are you ready?!"

He nodded.

“Ok then, let’s get this started! Mr. Morrow, spin the wheel?

On the opposite side of the stage of the scoreboard, a wheel of fortune lit up, each section containing the name of a different topic. Apparently, spinning it would decide the topic of the questions for each round, so Hisoka studied it closely, pulling a piece of gum from his pocket and chewing it thoughtfully. Most of the topics seemed normal enough. Things like geography, world history, food, and nen. But then there were also a few topics that were completely out there, like astrophysics.

“Hey,” Hisoka called over to McGee, “I thought that all the questions had to be things that you know the answers to. How come astrophysics is on here?”

McGee's face lit up into a delightfully slimy smile as he proclaimed, “My interests are varied and numerable,” He pulled out a diploma from his jacket pocket and showed it off.

To Hisoka’s chagrin the diploma seemed authentic (though he would not be the one best suited for determining things like that as he had never owned one himself) and it did indeed boast of a degree in astrophysics. And, to add insult to injury, the crowd laughed at him again, as if he were the stupid one for not knowing that McGee was a certified astrophysicist.

‘I guess it doesn’t really matter what topic I get,’ the clown thought to himself. ‘It’s not like I ever went to school.’ He gave the wheel a jaunty spin, watching as it circled a few times before landing on Geography. He nodded; this shouldn’t be too hard.

“Geography,” McGee clapped his hands together, “a great choice.” He reached behind the wheel and pulled out a thin stack of cards. “Since this is just the 1st round, I’ll go easy on you. All questions this round will be true/false and worth, say...” he seemed to think for a moment, “100 points. Are You Ready?”

“Yes,” Hisoka responded, though he was perplexed at the fact that McGee apparently had the power to change the point value of questions on a whim. This really was an odd Game Show.

“Then let’s begin. The first question is: True or False, there are 7 continents.”

Ha, this one was easy. Hisoka had seen the world map plenty of times. “True,” he said confidently.

“WHAAAAAAH,” the overhead speaker blared.

“Oh! I’m sorry sir,” McGee seemingly sympathetically said. “That sound means that you have gotten it wrong. The correct answer is,” a drumroll appeared out of nowhere, “False, there are only 6 continents.”

McGee’s tone was saccharinely sweet, and the audience was once again laughing at Hisoka. He scowled at them. It’s not his fault he didn’t know stuff. They probably all got to go to school and not have emotionally traumatizing childhoods that caused them to repress their feelings under a mask of clownery later in life.

“On to question number 2: True or False, Heavens arena is west of the Republic of Padokea?”

“False”

A small shower of confetti erupted from the ceiling and fluttered down onto Hisoka’s head. He tried to swat them away before they ruined his perfectly styled hair but was largely unsuccessful, causing another round of chuckles to ripple through the audience and another bout of annoyance for him.

“Very good,” McGee clapped unconvincingly, “You got one right.”

“Yes, thank you,” Hisoka picked a confetti bit out of his hair and flicked it at the announcer. Maybe he did not have his nen here but that does not mean that he would not make himself as annoying to the mobster as he could.

“Question number 3: True or False, Greed Island, the setting of a popular video game of the same name, is a real Island.”

“True.” He answered self-assuredly. He had literally been there so…

“WHAAAAAAH,” the buzzer again went off, this time even more obnoxiously.

Jimmy McGee looked less than sorry as he pronounced, “Unfortunately it seems like you have gotten the answer wrong.”

“What the?” Hisoka interjected, “I’ve literally been there.”

“Have you now,” the host looked at him, eyes wide, “then is Greed Island registered under any nation in the Global Unified Nations Association?”

Hisoka did not know but based on the look on McGee’s face he could guess

“No? Then according to the law, this island does not exist.”

“That’s at best a technicality.” Hisoka tried to defend himself, but McGeee was having none of it, and the brightly lit room was suddenly cast into shadows. The lights flickered into a dark red and the theme music which had been jovially playing along, stopped.

“Does it look like I care? It's my show,” The show host’s expression was neutral, but the audience was silent, staring at the clown with a dark look in their eyes. These were not real people; they were all figments of Jimmy McGee’s nen-ability. Everything here was fashioned from McGee’s nen-ability and the mobster was making damn sure that Hisoka would remember it. This was McGee’s world, "and what I say goes.”

The Gangster's tone was frosty as ice, as he paced in front of Hisoka's podium. “I think I may have forgotten to inform you of some of the rules of the game Mr. Morrow,” he paused, “If you lose, you die. And if you try to escape, my loyal ‘fans’ here," he gestured out at the mesmerised crowd, "will tear you to pieces. You should remember that your nen does not work here,” his smile returned. “You are powerless.”

They locked eyes, neither backing down. But after a few moments, the lights and the music came back, and the show started again as if nothing had happened.

The next question was something meaningless about the Gordeau Dessert. Hisoka guessed the answer, getting it wrong and instigating another bout of jeers from the obnoxious show announcer. He guessed right on the last question, conveniently worth double points, and tied up the score.

The game may have been intense, but Hisoka was not really paying attention. Not since he had heard those familiar words. Those words he had by first heard when he was young and small, facing the one person that had ever taken care of him- if feeding him moldy bread and forcing him to work grueling hours could be called taking care of someone. That circus tent had been the only home Hisoka had ever known. Back then he had worked so hard, been so eager to please the man, to be better for him, but all he ever heard was, “It’s my show, and what I say goes.”

The same words Jimmy McGee said to him now.

“Onto Round 2!”

Hisoka snapped back into reality. He didn’t have time to be stuck in the past now. Not while he was facing off against a mobster that would have him dead if he didn’t do anything about it soon. That question had been a lucky guess, but there was no telling how long his luck would hold out.

“Now this round gets a little harder.” McGee said, sounding rather gleeful at this prospect, even though it was him making the rules. “Not only will Mr. Morrow spin a new topic on the wheel, the questions are now multiple choice with 4, yes you heard that right, _four_ answer choices, and now, the questions are worth 200 points instead of just 100.

“But since I am nice, I will give the contestant 1 bonus.” From his jacket, McGee drew a flip phone and showed it off to the crowd before handing it to Hisoka. “If you think that you don’t know the answer to a question, you may use this phone 1 time in either this round or the next to phone a friend that you think can help. Their phone will ring out loud no matter what, even if it is dead or on silent, and it will show you as the caller. But it is totally up to them to decide whether or not they will answer.”

Hisoka looked down at the phone in his hand. This was an especially useful gift. He began formulating a plan.

“And on that note, it’s time to spin the wheel!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First id like to thank the academy and by the academy i mean my two editors who edit my stuff often they are cool and also i like them. Also i thank you my cool readers. I like y'all too 
> 
> and just because i like you you get a double chapter drop today


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that last chapter! now to finish the gameshow

Hisoka looked down at the phone in his hand. This was an especially useful gift. He began formulating a plan.

“And on that note, it’s time to spin the wheel!” McGee threw his arms out wide, and the audience was enthralled, as if his every gesture was genius. Hisoka supposed that to them, his creations, they were. He ignored the roaring crowd and their host as he  again went over to the wheel and gave it a jaunty spin. It twirled for a few moments before settling into the space marked Nen.

Now this was what Hisoka was talking about. He was one of the best nen users in the world; of course, he knew about Nen. Boldly he sauntered back to his podium; there was no way they would be tied at the end of  _ this _ round.

“It looks like our topic will be about Nen.” McGee retrieved his question cards. 

“Ok, question number 1: What are personality traits conjurors are said to have?

  1. Argumentativeness and logic
  2. Simplemindedness and determination
  3. Seriousness and caution
  4. Impatience and short temperedness”



Yes, these were kinds of questions Hisoka was hoping for. At one point he had been briefly addicted to astrology and nen-personality types (he was a Gemini transmuter by the way) and though he hadn’t thought of it in quite some time, all of this information was kept somewhere in the back of his head.

“C,” he said. He sent his signature smile at McGee. With the  confetti drifting down around him, it made for quite the unsettling picture, but the mobster paid no mind, moving onto the next question.

“Question 2: Which evolutionary theory is currently approved by the hunter’s association to explain the origins of nen?”

The clown did not bother listening to the answer choices. What kind of nerd question was that? He didn’t know, and he doubted anyone he could call would know either. ‘Maybe Illumi?’ he thought. He was a nerd, he might know. ‘Eh,’ he thought, ‘better not waste my bonus yet.’ 

He threw out a random letter, assuming that since he was currently in lead it probably wouldn’t be too bad if he got one question wrong. And indeed, he did get the answer wrong. But he had plenty of time to make those points up right?

Right?

With every  WHAAAAAAH  from the loudspeaker and laugh from the audience Hisoka watched Jimmy McGee’s shadow fill up on the scoreboard, and his ego inflate right along with it. In his old life, Hisoka had known tons of guys like McGee; guys that profited off of entertainment created by hurting others. Hell, he had been raised by the best of the best in this field. But knowing them did not make them any less difficult to deal with. 

Coming up on the last question of Round 2, Hisoka was 400 points behind and starting to feel a little nervous. He was still formulating his plan and needed one last thing before he could even think of implementing it. If he got this double-points 5th question correct, the scores would be tied, but he needed more than that. He incessantly tapped a long nail fingernail against the side of the podium, thinking.

“Looks like the pressure might be getting to our dear contestant,” McGee addressed the audience, gesturing to where the clown was tapping, causing another wave of laughter. 

He was really getting sick of this laugh happy audience.

“No matter,” McGee waved him off before he could respond. “Onto question number 5: What is the name of my nen ability?

  1. Movie maker
  2. A Wise Guy
  3. Game of Life
  4. So You Think?”



“Wait! This can’t be fair,” Hisoka jumped over the podium and stuck a finger in McGee’s face.

The gangster undisturbed. “It’s perfectly fair, Mr. Morrow. I know the answer and, if you were smarter than a Wise Guy, so would you. Besides,” the lights flickered reminding him who had the power here, “It’s my show and what I say goes.

Those words again. Those terrible words. But this time they did not only bring up things he would rather forget. An idea sparked. 

“Well, Mr. Wise Guy,” Hisoka shot back at the host. “If what you say goes, then surely you wouldn’t mind giving a handicap to this poor clown.” He pouted obnoxiously, an act that seemed to stroke McGee’s already impressive ego, as a self-satisfied look graced his features before he squinted at him suspiciously. 

“And what do you mean by handicap.”

Hisoka stepped out from behind the podium, smacking his gum obnoxiously, and began pacing around the stage working up the audience as he spoke, “Well we both know that I don't know what this answer to this question is.” He looked at McGee for confirmation before continuing, ‘so wouldn’t it be fair to up the stakes a little for this question?”

“And you mean by up the stakes?”

“I mean, we can agree that I don’t know the answer to this question?” McGee nodded. “And that means that when I guess, there is a 75% chance that I will get it wrong?” He nodded again. “And that means that the odds are overwhelmingly in your favor?”

“And what does that have to do with anything,” McGee cut in.

“Why it has everything to do with everything,” Hisoka responded, as if this was the most obvious thing in the universe. “I mean, since it is a complete guess, and the odds are overwhelmingly in your favor, wouldn’t it make sense for you to up the reward a little if I get the answer right?”

“That’s preposterous.” McGee scoffed.

“Is it though?” Hisoka looked at the crowd where some were nodding along to his words. “You would not gamble to get back exactly what you put in the pot. It only makes sense if the deal is sweet. “

“You may have a point,” the host stopped to consider, but the audience was clearly on Hisoka’s side. He must be reaching him.

“And think of this,” Hisoka’s tone was reasonable and clear, perfect for swaying the enemy. “If, no,  _ when _ I get it wrong, you have everything to gain. If Igo into round 3, say, a 1000 points behind, there will be no way for me to recover.” He swooned, “I’ll surely lose.”

Even the clown thought he was laying it on a little thick here, but it turned out to be just what was needed to convince the game show host. 

“Alright, alright, for this question number 5 it will be triple points, 600 points total. Now what is your answer?”

“Eh…” He didn’t even bother trying to figure it out, “C.” He had read somewhere that C was the most common multiple choice answer and that was good enough for him.

The buzzer  WHAAAAAAHed once again and McGee seemed quite pleased with himself at the result.  “Unfortunately, C is incorrect. The correct answer is B, A Wise Guy.” 

McGee began going over the score and delighting the audience into laughing at the clown some more but Hisoka paid no mind. His plan was complete. He knew how to win this game.

Round 3 could only be described as a massacre. Hisoka had spun the wheel and it landed on assassinations and assassins, a category that would not have been too bad for him if not for the fact that the only assassin he knew was Illumi and that all of the questions were free response. There was no room for guessing and Hisoka did not know the answers, so by the last question of the round, McGee had a 2200 point lead. But these four questions were not the massacre. No, the massacre started with question 5. 

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, this is the last question.” McGee spoke in a low tone, implying a tension that was none to be found. Even if the last question was double the 300 points the others had been, there was no way that Hisoka could win and everyone knew it. As the round had gone on the clown had looked more and more despondent. It seemed that the little stint he had pulled at the end of round 2 had been a last ditch effort to save himself, and his resounding failure had caused him to give up. Now, on the last question, he was desperate to save himself, and McGee was over the moon. He hadn’t had a win so satisfying in a long while. Now for this finishing blow.

“Wait! Wait,” Hisoka threw himself at the Gangsters feet. “Please give me one last chance to save myself.”

McGee laughed and placed a foot on the clown's head, messing up the perfect waves of his hair and disturbing some of the confetti that had settled there. “Why should I?”

The clown was silent for a moment before yelling, “Information! I can tell you who hired me to take you out.” His voice was meek as he continued. “That’s valuable right? Enough let me try to save my life?”

“So you're telling me,” He took his foot off and the clown cowered away. “You tell me who hired you, and I give you the opportunity to win this game.”

“Yes,” Hisoka cried, “Please.”

McGee thought about it, but it wasn’t really a hard decision. He had nothing to lose since no one had ever been able to answer the question he was about to ask, and everything to gain. “Fine. This question is worth 2300 points, more than 7 times the amount of the other Round 3 questions. Now tell me, who hired you.”

Hisoka’s expression was minimally relieved as he responded. “It was Don Macario.”

“I should have guessed it was one of the bosses,” McGee muttered, before brightening up. “Well no matter, onto the last question: What is...”

The tension built. The audience all leaned forward in their chairs, listening for those fateful words. 

“The average price of hiring a Zoldyck to do a one person Mob assasination?”

The room was silent for a moment, before Hisoka peeled himself up off the ground, eyed fiery and a monstrous grin on his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the flip phone given to him at the start of round two. The audience had forgotten about it, loud gasps erupting from them at his actions; so had McGee. 

He dialed a familiar number.

A long four rings later, someone picked up. There was no greeting or even the sound of breathing, only silence that Hisoka filled with his warmest of tones. 

“~Hey~ You wouldn’t happen to know what the average cost for hiring a zoldyck member to do, lets say a one person mob assassination would you?”

He nonchalantly paced around the stage, waiting for the answer that would save his life. The answer no one expected he would ever be able to find out. The answer that none had gotten before him. 

Illumi’s monotone reverberated around the room filling the air and seemingly spiraling for a moment before settling in the spectators' consciousnesses, “Yes, I do.”

The room was thrown into a silent chaos, all trying to express the conflicting emotions evoked from this response, but reluctant to make any noise lest they miss something.

Hisoka grew even bolder and marched up to Jimmy McGee staring him in the eyes. He was slightly shorter and much less bulky than the mobster but the sheer smugness radiating off of him made him a much more striking figure. The Gangster did not waiver, but the audience was buzzing.

“Well,” he pouted slightly, “could you tell me?”

There was a long silence where the clown and the mobster did not move an inch. 

Illumi spoke, “For a one-person assasination, the average is 700 million jenny.” Jimmy McGee’s face paled slightly, “Of course, additional fees are added if the type of assasination is specified and if the target has particularly good security.”

Hisoka eyed McGee; he didn’t look scared enough. “So a mafia member with decent security would cost around 725 million?”

“I suppose so,” there was a thud, like Illumi had kicked something, “Though it would be more like 750 million. Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you,” Hisoka replied, a smile on his lips. He hopped away from McGee turning towards the scoreboard and watching his shadow fill with points. And not only that, his body began filling with power, his nen returning to him. He laughed slightly, “I’ll see you soon, Illumi Zoldyck.”

McGee was frantically stepping back, pulling at his slicked back hair. “How, how did this happen. How? HOW!”

“How, you may ask?” the clown sauntered over to McGee snatched his skinny microphone and pranced around the stage, beginning to regale his miraculous tale.

“It all started when you said those fateful words, ‘It’s my show and what I say goes.’” he looked off into the distance wistfully, “I knew someone long ago that often said that very same thing, so of course as soon as you said them I knew what kind of person you are.” He looked down at McGee, who had fallen when he snatched the mic. “Scum, McGee. You are scum.”

“So,” he continued his dance, “of course I began formulating a plan on how to deal with scum such as yourself. I knew that I could use the phone call you so graciously granted me to my advantage, but I was not sure how until the end of round 2.”

He walked over to the gangster on the floor and patted his head like a naughty dog, “Do you want to know what your downfall was? I’m sure you do.” He slammed McGee’s head into the floor, and used a bit of bungee gum to keep him from lifting it. He placed his foot on his head. “It was your ego.

You couldn’t resist upping the points at the end of round 2 for even the opportunity of seeing me farther behind, so I knew for sure that there was no way for you to resist me groveling at your feet for my life. There was no way that one with an ego the size of yours would remember the handicap you gave me, if I was losing too badly, so I let myself get farther and farther behind, causing you to lower your guard more and more.

“And how did I know that I would get this last question right, you ask?” He walked over to the wheel of fortune turning it to the side and revealing a small piece of gum that stuck to the bottom keeping it locked onto the position of assassinations and assassins. “That I did with some good old fashioned sleight of hand and a friend in a high place.

“I can assure you that my dearest Illumi could tell you more about any assasination that anyone. It is his business and he makes sure to know  _ everything _ about it.

“So there you have it. That is how I bested you at your own game.” He spread his arms in what could have been an invitation for an embrace, “Your only option now is to fight me. Beat me, if you can.”

The audience charged. Climbing onto the stage, they rushed towards Hisoka with arms outstretched, ready to grab, rip, and maim, but it was too late. A Hisoka with nen was unstoppable, and he took them all down easily and mercilessly, getting drenched in their blood as he went. Mandee, the stage manager, fought the hardest of them all, but still fell gruesomely at the clown's hand. These creatures were creations made by Jimmy McGee, and he would watch them die.

With his nen, it was a relatively simple process to escape. He killed anything that wasn’t Jimmy McGee, saving him for last, and when he was the last one left, he killed him too. He hefted the dead gangsters over his shoulder and made his way over to the far wall where the not-door was located. Conveniently, the door had transformed back into a proper door at McGee’s death. 

The clown took one last survey of the place he had been held hostage in for the last few hours. It was in shambles, every stand was overturned, the hanging lights had fallen, and dead bodies were the ornaments that adorned every inch of the floor. 

‘Hm,’ Hisoka thought, waving over his shoulder and laughing lightly as he stepped into the portal. ‘Tata.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys the real reason for this good old fashioned double chapter drop is actually cause my first day of college was today and with school i will probably be posting much slower (even though i already post very slowly, sorry) please know that i will not forget about this fic (i am too emotionally invested at this to ever give it up)
> 
> Would you guys like to know a fun fact about these works? Imma tell you anyway.   
> I write each part of this series in a different color and sometimes in a different font. These changes help me to determine the vibe of the work. If you would like you can guess what colors each of them are and ill tell you if you are right.
> 
> I have a question for y'all, would you prefer for the next thing that i write to be another chapter or another oneshot in the orange farm universe? I'll do whatever you prefer cause i already have the plans for both already made, i just have to actually do it
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this part! sorry for the lack of Illumi content in this section, Hisoka is dramatic and stole the spotlight for 2 whole chapters. 
> 
> Let me know if y'all prefer more hisoka centric or Illumi centric? I'll still do whatever i want, but it will be fun to learn


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys sorry i was gone for so long. As i mentioned before i just started college and it took me a while to get used to the work load and everything (which as a bad excuse because i also procrastinated a lot). Rest assured I have not forgotten about this fic and hope to finish it by Christmas time. So here you all are. I hope you enjoy!

Hisoka took one last survey of the place he had been held hostage in for the last few hours. It was in shambles, every stand was overturned, the hanging lights had fallen, and dead bodies were the ornaments that adorned every inch of the floor. 

‘Hm,’ Hisoka thought, waving over his shoulder and laughing lightly as he stepped into the portal. ‘Tata.”  
_____

Illumi was crouching by the dead body of the girl he just killed when Hisoka emerged from a nen portal, the dead body of Jimmy McGee thrown over his shoulder. He was not in a good mood and his annoyance doubled when the clown flashed him a cheeky grin, as if he hadn’t just disappeared, leaving him to do all the work (not that it was hard to kill all of the mobsters, it was just rude to abandon him like that).

“Where have you been?” Illumi sighed as he stood, brushing himself off.

Hisoka snorted. “Well you see, my dearest Illumi,” he slung Mcgee’s body back onto the throne he was sitting on when they entered the warehouse, “this one here,” he nodded to the body, “used his weird nen ability to trap me in a game show.”

The assassin was unimpressed.

Hisoka just shrugged. “Basically, I killed him. Anything left to do over here?” He looked around at the carnage around him. “I hope you haven’t been having too much fun without me.”

Illumi ignored him, plucking out his needles that were stuck in bodies and impaled in the walls around him.

The clown watched with vague amusement, ‘Such a shame,’ he thought, kicking a body. It hit the wall with a thud. ‘What a waste of a good massacre.’ He lamented for a moment before deciding that even if he didn’t get to kill the mobsters, he might as well play with their corpses.

\------

Illumi sulked in a corner of the warehouse, watching his partner in crime mess with the bodies of the dead mobsters.

This was a familiar ritual by now. After a massacre, the clown was always antsy, longing to prolong the violence as long as he could. To keep him from complaining too much, when they completed an assasination together, Illumi would let him play with the bodies of the dead until he got bored.

This time Hisoka had adorned the head of Jimmy McGee with a crown made of cards. The body sat on his throne, with a full court of his dead underlings placed around him. He sat there, a lifeless king, in front of a ring of his slaughtered subjects.

And at center stage, obviously thinking himself the court jester, Hisoka was putting on a show: using bungee gum as puppet strings and the remaining dead mobsters as puppets.

Illumi scoffed. This was a vile practice, but he watched anyway as the play reached its climax. It was a tale of 2 young lovers' torrid affair, and the two love interests were about to duel to the death for the hand of their love when Illumi heard sirens in the distance, heading their way. It seemed that playtime was over. 

“Hisoka.”

“Hmm…” The clown glanced up from his puppets, “Oh, Illumi did you want to join in? It is such fun.”

“Let’s go.”

“What?” There was a flash of Hisoka’s bloodlust as he squinted at him, expression tight.  
Illumi knew that Hisoka did not enjoy being interrupted, but did not respond to his show of aggression. His tone was dry as he stated, “cops. We need to leave.”

The clown angled his head towards the approaching sound and took a deep breath, his bloodlust still sizzling around him. 

Illumi tensed. He could usually count on the clown to be semi-reasonable, but in this state, his post kill habits interrupted, it was hard to guess what he would do. They had never truly fought with the intentions to kill, so though Illumi believed he would win, he knew that it would not be easy. More importantly, he knew that they needed to be gone, before the cops got there. 

The sounds of sirens getting closer and closer, and Illumi snuck a needle into his palm ready to incapacitate the clown and carry him away if need be, but the clown took one more breath and his nen settled, though his stormy expression did not. He too knew that they couldn’t be caught by law enforcement.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t just kill the police officers. No, that would be easy for them. The problem was the Hunters Association. For the most part nen users were left alone by the association, left to fight amongst themselves in peace, which was how they got away with being assassins and killers. As long as long as the general public did not find out about nen, then the hunters association did not care. One place, however, that the association would step in was if nen users messed with the general law enforcement. There was too high a chance of nen being exposed, so people like Hisoka and Illumi lived by these simple rules: they could do whatever they wanted as long as they were not caught by the cops.

Hisoka stomped towards the warehouse door and practically tore it off its hinges, staring back at the assassin, standing in a corner of the warehouse.

“Are we going or not?”

Illumi let out the breath he had been holding and slipped the needle back into his sleeve. “Yes.”

The two of them launched themselves into the rooftops of Yorknew, heading downtown, away from the sirens. The silent assassin and a seething clown. They were moving fast, far too fast for them to be caught, and Illumi felt the tension in his body draining away as they went, but he was left with questions. Why were the cops called in the first place?

It couldn’t have been one of the mobsters that called them. Even as he was distracted fighting the girl, he had made sure that every mobster was dead before they even had the chance to pick up their phones. He had determined that all the surrounding buildings were abandoned during his preliminary reconnaissance, so it could not have been that the police were headed towards another building that just happened to be near there. On top of that, they were right at the edge of the city. There is nowhere else that the cops could have been going.

That meant that either someone else had found out about the hit and called the cops on them. or it was an inside job. But the only ones who had known about the job were his father, Hisoka, and Don Macario (the one who had called for the hit in the first place).

Illumi looked over toward the clown, only to receive a scathing glare back. He was going to ask him if he had any ideas but, yeah, maybe he should wait to ask him. Just until he was in a slightly better mood.

“Hey, this way.” Illumi changed course heading towards a tall building in the center of town.

Hisoka’s scowl only deepened, “And where, pray tell, are we going that is even farther away from my apartment?”

“Dinner.”

The clown faltered, falling behind for a moment, but quickly caught up. To Illumi’s surprise there were no further protests from him, and though he did not seem completely back to normal, Illumi could sense that he was in a far better mood than before. This was odd of the clown, Illumi thought, but as they had never before spent time together in a capacity that wasn’t strictly professional, he just brushed it off.

Reaching the building, Illumi pulled at a latch on the roof, revealing a trap door, and dropped down into it. Hisoka followed and landed in what appeared to be an elegant dining room. It was small and private with a glass wall that overlooked the city skyline.

“Wow, Illumi,” Hisoka purred, “I’m charmed.”

The assassin chose to ignore this, and instead stiffly walked over to a door across from the glass wall and rang a bell hung by it.

A spiffily dressed waiter appeared and pulled out a chair for each of the two men on opposite sides of the table, seemingly unfazed by the copious amounts of blood that covered Hisoka. He pulled out a pad of paper before speaking, “Welcome to La Pêche du Jour Mr. Zoldyck and Guest. I will be your server this evening. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Illumi ordered for the two of them, a whiskey for himself and something fruity for the clown, before settling down into his chair. The waiter nodded and walked away, leaving the two killers alone in the room.

Hisoka was the one to break the silence, sitting in his own chair. “So, fancy restaurant…?” He played idly with a spoon on the table in front of him. “If I didn’t know better, I would say that you are trying to impress me.”

“Well then it is a good thing you know better.” There was another moment of silence, and Illumi’s face twitched. “La Pêche du Jour is my grandfather’s favorite restaurant in Yorknew; this is his private room. I stop by from time to time if I am ever in the city.”

“And this time you decided to bring me along. That was quite ‘friendly’ of you.”

The assassins face twitched again. “Do not misunderstand. It was… unfortunate that our mission was cut short. It would be rude of me not to provide some kind of compensation.”

“Compensation.” Hisoka smirked. “And that means what exactly?”

... Illumi was spared from answering this question by the return of the waiter. Along with the drinks were two delicate bowls of soup, which the waiter gently placed in front of them.

Hisoka initially went to grab the spoon he had been playing with earlier but wavered slightly. There were two spoons on his table setting and he was apparently not quite sure which he was supposed to use. After a not so subtle glance at Illumi, he ultimately picked the correct one.

Illumi, who had been trained in proper etiquette since birth, was amused and studied the clown across from him. He ate delicately, not slurping or leaning over his bowl; however it was clear that, though he seemed to know what proper manners were supposed to look like, he had never actually been taught them. He scooped the soup towards himself instead of away and ate far too quickly. Though he never spilled a drop, he was done before Illumi had finished even half of his own.

With the arrival of the food, the tension in the room seemed to melt away, and Hisoka chartered along as they ate, maintaining a mostly one-sided conversation with the assassin. Hisoka did tend to monologue, so Illumi wasn’t especially surprised by this. He went into great detail regaling Illumi with tales of his exploits: killing the sea pilot, killing a nen swordsman, killing an assassin that was sent against him. Illumi sat, sipping his soup and nodding occasionally. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know much of this information, the Zoldyck butlers kept very thorough files and he kept himself updated, but it was surprisingly nice to hear it from the clown instead of a file, though he knew that it was likely that Hisoka’s stories were greatly exaggerated.

He was halfway through the story of his latest stint at Heaven’s Arena when the waiter returned, this time with 2 plates of filet mignon, potatoes, and vegetables. It was a favorite dish of Zeno Zoldyck and a specialty here at La Pêche du Jour.

“Oh, how nice”, Hisoka squealed as the food was placed in front of him. He correctly guessed his right knife and fork, before digging in, even before Illumi was served his own food. Again, the assassin felt that dinner companion was trying his best to follow the correct etiquette, but his speed of consumption combined with the fact that his clothes were as bloody as his steak, painted an interesting picture.

Illumi ordered the two some dessert before the waiter left, and they soon resumed the easy conversation they had before the interruption.

The conclusion to the Heaven’s Arena story was expectedly grand, and they had gone through several more stories when Hisoka asked, “So, Illumi. How is your father?”

The assassin, who had throughout the conversation had been relaxing more and more, stiffened up again. This was not an unusual question from Hisoka. Illumi knew that his goal in life was to find and fight the powerful, and there were few as powerful as his father, but that did not erase the bitter feeling that Illumi got when he was asked about him.

“He is fine.”

“Is that so?” Hisoka cracked his knuckles, “Then after this wonderful meal that you treated me to, we could go to the Zoldyck manor and you could introduce me?”

“No, I will not take you to the manor just so you can fight my father.” A hint of annoyance leaked out of the normally expressionless assassins’ tone. Hisoka had made it clear that he wanted to fight the head of the Zoldyck family, yet he had never asked to fight Illumi. Sure, they sparred occasionally, but that was different than the no stakes to the death fight the clown wanted with his real opponents. Sure, he wasn’t as strong as his father, but if it came down to it, he could beat the clown. So how come he Hisoka never expressed interest in fighting him?

“Why, is that jealousy I hear? Are you mad at me because I want to fight your father and not you? He is very strong.” Hisoka had obviously picked up on the reason for the assassin’s irritation and was provoking him. He was spared the assassin's wrath by the reappearance of the waiter.

He entered carrying two large dessert plates, one with a slice of rich chocolate cake and one strawberry cheesecake. He placed the chocolate in front of Illumi and the cheesecake in front of Hisoka, before quickly taking their old plates and leaving the room. With the arrival of his cake, Illumi was pacified and determined to ignore his companion and enjoy it. Hisoka on the other hand was not done needling the assassin and leaned over the table to look at the other’s dessert.

“That looks good,” he reached over with his fork, “give me a bite.”

The assassin swiftly moved his plate to the side. “No.”

The clown sat back and pouted, “Why?”

“You have your own, and I know you like it since you mentioned it while you were talking, so no, you can’t have any of mine.” He picked up his desert spoon and carefully carved out a bite sized piece of cake.

In a feat of acrobatic prowess, Hisoka launched himself out of his chair and across the table, swiping Illumi’s spoon from his hand and shoving the cake into his mouth.

Not expecting this attack after the tongue lashing that he had just given, Illumi was not fast enough to save his bite of cake, but he was fast enough to grab Hisoka out of the air by his collar and fling him into the opposite wall. He stood, readying himself to defend his cake, but the clown did not get up from the heap on the floor where had fallen after hitting the wall. Illumi had not thrown him that hard, so he did not drop his guard, thinking that this might be a bluff- but instead of a counterattack or a least a witty comment, Illumi saw Hisoka grabbing his throat and gasping.

Illumi approached cautiously, still thinking this might be a feint, but when he got closer, he felt Hisoka’s nen, his life energy, leaking away from his body. Illumi rushed back to the table and put a tiny piece of the chocolate cake in his mouth. The normally sweet cake was tainted with something bitter.

It was poisoned!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi dudes! Thanks for reading! I hope this chapter was interesting. Don't be too worried everything will turn out fine (probably). 
> 
> I am having a fun event thingy soon. Over thanksgiving break me and my two editors are going to each be writing a oneshot and then i will post them together. This is actually a oneshot competition between the three of us so if y'all wouldn't mind when it comes out can you read all of them and then vote in the comments of which is your favorite. Thanks for your help and I hope you look forward to it!
> 
> I will try really hard to get the next chapter out soon. I hope you all have a good day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> Sorry it took so insanely long to get this new chapter out. First I was doing school stuff and then over thanksgiving break I did a [ one shot competition ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792475/chapters/68038939) with my editors. Check that out if you haven't seen it yet, it was pretty fun.  
> I'll be the first to admit that i have been procrastinating over Christmas break, but as penance I have chapter 7 here and I will release chapter 8 tomorrow. I hope you enjoy them.

Hisoka woke up in a very large bed in a very dark room.

This was _very_ unusual as the bed in his apartment was a twin that barely fit his large frame, and he hadn’t bothered to buy curtains yet, and day or night there was always some light filtering in.

The next observation that he made, was that he felt like shit.

This too was rather odd, as he really could not remember what he had _done_ that would make him feel like shit. His head hurt and his whole body ached, but not in the way that it would after a hard workout or a hard… _*other activities*._ He had in fact, never felt like this before, and after lying in the bed for a few moments, he decided that he never wanted to feel like it ever again.

He stared at the ceiling for a few moments, trying to determine if it would be worth it to get up and try to figure out where he was and how he got there. If he was kidnapped, at least his kidnapper had the courtesy to provide him with an insanely comfortable bed, though maybe he shouldn't be thanking them, seeing as how he was also gifted an entire-body bruise.

He sighed.

“fuck.”

Saying a bad word made him feel a little better and gave him the motivation to swing himself off of the bed and onto the floor. Wobbling on his bare feet, proof of just how shitty he was feeling, Hisoka felt his way across the wall. His eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark and he surveyed the room. Besides the bed, it was mostly barren, with a few dressers and several doors, leading presumably to a closet, hallway, and bathroom.

Doing some very intense mental calculations, Hisoka determined that the light switch was far too far away to walk to it in his current state. Instead, he inched open one of the long curtains that fell over the windows by the bed, only to discover that it was apparently nighttime. And nighttime in a very secluded area, as there were exactly no streetlights, porch lights or anything else that could be light providing in the vicinity.

“fuck.”

Hisoka, who had not actually made it that far from the bed, was faced with a dilemma: continue onwards on his quest for light, or go back to bed. As much as it pained him (quite literally), he decided that he must journey on. As his kidnapper had already gotten him to a secondary location, he mustn’t let them get any more of an advantage.

It was time for Operation Clowning Around: A Predator in the Night- The Sequel.

You see, Hisoka had a very vivid imagination, and when he wasn’t doing his ‘find and mess with strong people’ thing, he was _thinking_ about finding a messing with strong people. Or in the case of Operation Clowning Around: A Predator in the Night- The Sequel, he thought about strong people finding and messing with him.

In this elaborate hypothetical situation, he was kidnapped by an insanely strong nen user and had to fight his way out. Hisoka had in fact thought about this situation quite a lot and had determined an exact set of steps for him to implement if it were ever to happen to him. And these steps are as follows.

Step 1: familiarize yourself with the surroundings you find yourself in

Step 2: if possible, assemble a weapon with whatever you find*

Step 3: kill the kidnapper with the assembled weapon

*if you find that you still have your nen you may skip this step

Hisoka found himself newly determined when reminded of his geniously complex plan and redoubled his effort to shuffle towards the light switch.

It took him a long time.

……

A really long time.

…

It seemed that he hadn’t really accounted for being injured in Operation Clowning Around: A Predator in the Night- The Sequel. At least he still had his nen, he reasoned, though with how slow he was moving it may not be the most useful thing in the world.

As he heard the creak of the bedroom door opening, he realized he had forgotten to account for if the kidnapper showed up before he had finished steps 1 and 2.

He lifted his arms into a fighting stance (again a copiously difficult task) and prepared to complete step 3. He may not have any weapons or knowledge of the terrain or the ability to walk to the light switch, but he had attitude, and that was like 60% of the battle. If he raised his game like 20% and the kidnapper lowered his game 20% then they were practically even.

Two unmistakably large and round eyes peaked from behind the door towards Hisoka.

“Oh, thank god,” Hisoka slumped over as Illumi flipped on the light switch and stepped into the room, blinking at him.

As he was apparently out of danger, Hisoka instantly switched from survival mode into brat mode and using the last of his strength (his words) he flung himself into the assassins’ arms.

“IIIILLLLLUUUMMMIIIII!!!! HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME ALONE IN MY TIME OF NEEEEEEED!” He swooned in the other’s arms. “I’m injured,” he whined pitifully, a tear in the corner of his eye. (Everyone knows a good host can cry on command.) 

Illumi looked as if he wanted to drop the annoyance in his arms but seemed to restrain himself and even hefted the clown up and placed him gently(ish) back onto the bed. He did not respond other than a slight tilt of his head towards the bedside table on the left side of the bed.

Hisoka who had gotten off on the right side, after sleeping directly in the center, had completely not noticed the glass of water, several aspirins, and note from the assassin lying there.

“Oh, Illumi you do care!” Hisoka wailed, refusing to let go from where his arms were wrapped around the others neck.

“Hisoka,” Illumi’s voice was tight and clipped and his nen made his hair float slightly behind, “you know the only reason I saved you was that it would be inconvenient to find another assassination partner. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

Hisoka blinked up at him shyly (it’s all a front don’t trust him), “So you think we are partners?”

Hisoka was lucky he was already in a bed, cause it made for a softer resting place when Illumi knocked him out.

\--------

‘Hisoka was insufferable. Completely insufferable!’ This was the thoughts that graced Illumi’s mind as he gazed down at the prone figure lying in his bed. Of course, he couldn’t really complain- as he was the one who brought him to the Zoldyck manor.

In retrospect, this was definitely a bad idea, but what else was he supposed to do when he saw Hisoka gasping on the floor of the restaurant, dying right there in front of him.

Illumi knew that in those moments he had acted without thinking and it was coming back to bite him in the butt now. Being indebted to a Zoldyck was not a trivial matter. Even amongst the family members, favors were very sparsely asked for and even less often offered. If one was to receive a favor, they should expect to pay it back at least two-fold.

And now Illumi owed two of them. All because of the stupid clown in his bed.

No.

Because of whoever had tried to poison him.

It was a clumsy attempt, the poisoner obviously not knowing that the Zoldycks were immune to most poisons. Hisoka had obviously just been caught up in the crossfire when he had stolen that bite of cake. (The assassin had checked and the only slice that was poisoned was his own).

Illumi cursed himself. Why hadn’t he tried to find the waiter that served them the poisoned cake, or interrogated the cooks?

He knew why of course, and it was because he was too busy keeping Hisoka alive. The assassin kept a very small amount of the antidote to several poisons on his person at all times, just in case. But the small amount was not nearly enough to completely remove all traces of poison from the system of someone who wasn’t already mostly immune. So, when Illumi stabbed the needle of antidote into Hisoka's heart, his breaths only went from nonexistent to shallow and labored, seeming as if they could disappear at any moment.

They needed to get to the manor. Milluki was the resident poison specialist in the family. One favor from him and Hisoka would be fixed right up. He just had to get him to the manor- across two continents- alive. The thought of taking him to a hospital briefly crossed Illumi’s mind, but he couldn’t. Not while suspicious injuries (like poisonings) were reported to the police. There was no other option.

He called Zeno.

A 7-hour ride in Zeno’s favorite blimp (that usually no was even allowed to look at) and 8 broken international speeding laws later, and Hisoka was safely deposited into Illumi’s bed. Milluki had given him an IV with the proper dosage of the antidote and though weak, he seemed to be making a full recovery.

Illumi had not left the clown's side for any time at all until Milluki assured him that after a few days' rest he would be fine. That of course meant that now he had to deal with the consequences of cashing in those favors.

When he was absolutely sure that Hisoka would be ok left alone, he left his room and headed over to Zeno’s. Might as well get the harder one done first. His grandfather just laughed and waved his hand as Illumi attempted to repay his debt.

“I'll have something to request of you eventually. Just remember this when the time comes.”

This did not sit well with Illumi, as he did not like being indebted to anyone and it was hard to plan for this so called ‘eventually.’ But as there was nothing he could do about it now. 

He went to Milluki’s room instead. Dealing with his favor would be much easier. Milluki was fond of his video games and not fond of moving, so his favor would most likely revolve around buying and/or retrieving one of his games for him.

Illumi was right, though also mildly disturbed to find that the limited-edition game he was supposed to get from Yorknew seemed to be a furry dating sim, but that wasn’t all.

“And I want pancakes.” Milluki said, barely looking up from his television screen a brightly colored anime flashing across the screen.

“I will call for the butlers to bring you some.”

“No, I want you to make them.”

Illumi’s eyes widened in surprise. As he occasionally had assassinations in remote locations, Illumi had some knowledge on how to cook simple meals and food rations. Illumi had also been the one to teach all of his younger siblings about surviving in remote locations, so they had tried this food. Killua and Kalluto were quite adamant in the fact that they did not like any of it, but a young Milluki had been rather fond of his brother’s pancakes.

  
  


And it seemed that for his favor he wanted his brother to make him the dish once more.

This was not a hard price to pay, and he nodded, agreeing. 

After closing the door behind him he headed back to his room to check on Hisoka. The dramatic mess he found there was both completely unexpected and totally predictable. The clown seemed rather delirious from the painkillers they had put in his IV earlier, so Illumi didn’t feel too bad about knocking him out again.

Illumi sighed and settled down in the bed next to Hisoka, a book in hand. He didn’t want the clown to wake up alone again, lest he leave the room and alert the other Zoldyck’s to his presence in the house (only Milluki knew he was there). Though he now had a small welt on his head from where Illumi knocked him out, Hisoka was sleeping soundly.

Illumi sighed again. It seemed that pancakes would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was pretty dumb wasn't it. I didn't really mean for it to be big stupid, but sometimes that is just how it has to be. I hope you enjoyed it anyway and sorry that this chapter was on the shorter side. Honestly this and the next chapter could probably be combined into 1 big chapter, but then it would be really long. If you look closely then you will find references to 4 other works of fiction in this chapter. You can guess in the comments what they are if you want. 
> 
> Don't forget the next chapter is coming out tomorrow.
> 
> See you then!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, my dudes I hope you enjoyed [Chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973918/chapters/70433067) . I posted this chapter 8 literally the day after, so please don't get confused and accidentally skip one. If the last thing you remember is Hisoka getting poisoned you need to go back to chapter 7. I hope you enjoy this chapter! It should be fun. I am very fond of it and the scene towards the end is literally the inspiration for this entire fic.

Hisoka woke for the second time with a very unattractive groan. Feeling the sizable welt on the back of his head and unfortunately knowing where it came from, he flipped onto his front and buried his face into the pillow. After waking up the first time, he felt like he had been hit by a semi. Seeing as how now it only felt like he had been hit by a golf cart, it was a marked improvement. But that did not mean that he felt quite ready to leave the too large and far too comfortable bed, especially since there seemed to be a very attractive assassin sitting in the bed with him. Said assassin was not paying any attention to him, but that was something that was very easily remedied.

“Illluuuummiiii,” he groaned, “be a dear and pass me the advil.”

Hisoka heard the assassins book snap shut and he sensed the assassin holding out the pills and glass of water towards him. He unfortunately was still quite content to keep his face buried in that deliciously soft and springy pillow. The call of the painkillers was strong, but the pillow was a cruel mistress, and he was reluctant to leave her.

That is until Illumi apparently got sick of holding the glass and purposefully spilled a bit of the water onto the back of the clown’s head.

Though all of the water was on the back of his head, Hisoka spluttered as he shot up in the bed, an appalled look spreading over his face as he turned towards his bedmate. What he found surprisedly may have (just barely) been worth any indignation that he faced, as Illumi was laughing.

It was small, just a miniscule upturn of his lips and a small exhale of air, but that was more than the clown had ever seen from him before. But if he had anything to do about it, it would not be the last time.

The laugh lasted only a moment, and Illumi’s face settled back into its usual neutral expression.

“Was that really necessary?” Hisoka scowled taking the glass and pills and quickly downing them.

“I think so, yes,” Illumi responded, the slightly teasing squint in his eyes proving that he did not feel bad about it.

Hisoka was unused to this unexpectedly facetious aspect of the other's personality and decided to push his luck.

“You are lucky you’re cute,” he said, flirting lightly.

The assassin’s nose wrinkled a little, but he seemed to let this one slide, getting out of the bed and gesturing for the other to follow. Hisoka complied and Illumi led him over to the bathroom. It was then that Hisoka noticed a rather potent odor coming from seemingly himself.

“Yeesh, how long was I out.” He took in his disheveled appearance in the mirror. His hair was limp and a little wet in the back. Illumi had removed his makeup for him, so at least he hadn’t broken out, but the pale face in front of him was definitely not only due to a lack of sunlight, like usual.

He cursed, “Whoever fucking poisoned me is going to pay.”

A murderous glint appeared in the assassin eyes, and he nodded.

This appeased the clown and he let out a long breath. “How long was I out anyway? I see that it’s the middle of the night.”

“A little over 48 hours since the initial poisoning. It’s 4:27 and we’ve been at the manor for about a day and a half now”

“Oh, is that where we are? I was wondering.” Hisoka grinned suddenly. “So, you are saying you let me sleep in your bed.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Against my better judgement, it seems,” Illumi said, apparently done with the clown’s shit. “There is stuff in the shower. Towels are in the cabinet. I’ll try and find you something to wear.” He eyed the clown skeptically. 

It may be a challenge to find him something suitable. Hisoka was only a few centimeters taller than the assassin was, but he also was certainly wider. He was lucky Illumi liked to wear baggy clothes. 

Illumi’s eyes lingered a few seconds longer than strictly necessary on the clown, who was only wearing his pair of boxers patterned with little red hearts. Hisoka’s bloody clothes had been removed before he was deposited in the bed, and now that he was out of immediate danger the assassin let himself appreciate the view (out of character he knew, but he’d be damned if he denied himself a little eye candy in his own house).

Hisoka obviously noticed, but he was more concerned with the shower at this point than the assassin’s attention. (However he would explore this later. It seemed that his suspicions that the assassin wanted a piece were at least a partially correct)

He allowed himself a grin in triumph when the assassin left, but quickly moved on to more important things. He had been asleep for two days and he really needed to piss.

\--------

Was it bad to think that Hisoka looked good in his clothes? ( _ like, really good _ .)

Illumi was very conflicted when he saw that his baggiest t-shirt was still a bit tight around the clown’s chest. At least the sweatpants fit the way they were supposed to (though if you asked the clown, he thought they showed off his ass rather nicely). Illumi tried to keep his glancing subtle, his assassin surveillance skills being used to their maximum capacity, but based on Hisoka’s shit eating grin, he had been largely unsuccessful.

He took a cleansing breath, banishing all * _ thirsty*  _ thoughts from his brain. He had much more important things to be doing right now.

“Come,” he clasped his hands and ushered the clown out of his room. “Everyone should still be asleep, but I’d rather the fewest number of people know that you are here as possible.”

The clown obediently remained quiet as Illumi led him through the vast manor, only asking a few questions about the stately ancestral abode of the Zoldycks.

Their destination was a small kitchen in a secluded corner of the second floor of the mansion, one largely unused by the butlers and Illumi’s family. Nevertheless, it was stocked just as well as the other five kitchens in the house and Illumi was fairly confident that no one would see them there.

He pulled out two aprons from the pantry, throwing one over to Hisoka (and secretly both relieved and saddened that he wouldn’t have to look at all  _ that _ anymore).

“Why Illumi,” Hisoka’s tone was surprised but also teasing, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I do not know why I wouldn’t be able to.” Illumi responded, mildly confused. “Cooking is an important skill for survival. You know I’ve been well trained.”

Hisoka laughed slightly, “I am well aware of that. I just didn’t realize that that training included the culinary arts.”

“Well, it did,” Illumi huffed, retrieving some strawberries from the fridge and handing them to the clown. “Now you just sit there and cut the strawberries.”

Illumi briefly considered if giving Hisoka a knife was the best idea, but watching him jovially cutting strawberries, sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, he decided it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like the other was much less deadly without one.

Illumi got to work, quickly whipping up the pancake batter. It was similar to the recipe he used out on missions, but he substituted the powdered milk for regular added a touch more sugar and vanilla. While he was mixing up the ingredients, Hisoka chatted from his perch on the stool, but Illumi wasn’t really paying attention. Nonetheless, he found the background noise was enjoyable, and the clown also didn’t seem to mind, content to just talk for talking’s sake. Content that is, until it was time to put the pancakes on to cook.

Heating up and buttering a large skillet, Illumi completed the necessary preparations and was about to pour the first bit of batter into the pan when Hisoka popped up, a determined grin on his face.

“About to flip the pancakes I see.”

“Not really, I haven’t even poured them into the pan.”

“Ah ah ah my dearest, there is an art to flipping pancakes and I am sure that I must show you how it is done.”

Hisoka seemed very confident, and Illumi wasn’t really in the mood to argue with him, so he surrendered his position in front of the stove to the clown.

He started normally enough, pouring an appropriate amount of batter into the pan and waiting till bubbles appeared on the top of the batter before attempting to flip.

It was in the flip when everything went wrong.

Hisoka grabbed the handle of the pan, apparently going for the airborne flip rather than the tried and true spatula method, which was Illumi’s preference. He jabbed the pan in a quick scooping motion, but the pancake just slid around a little bit. He was still weakened from the poison, and it seemed his usual technique wasn’t gonna cut it.

Undeterred, Hisoka gave the pan a more vigorous scoop, and the pancake achieved flight. Perhaps this scoop was slightly too vigorous, as it did not fall back into the pan, as the clown had been intending. No, the pancake in fact soared through the air, landing unceremoniously onto the head of one Illumi Zoldyck, who had been standing at the clown’s side, watching the proceedings with subdued interest.

Illimi supposed he should have expected this. He had stood next to Hisoka with the express purpose of watching him epicly fail. He had just assumed that the pancake would be burnt or hideously deformed or something normal like that. He had underestimated the clown, and his hair had paid the price- now covered in the half-cooked mess of a pancake. 

He had underestimated him once, but that was a mistake that he would not make again.

Lightning fast, Illumi snatched the bowl of batter from the kitchen counter and flung a glob directly into the clown’s face.

There was silence for a moment, and Hisoka blinked twice, before wiping the batter from his eyes, a predatory grin spreading over his face. He lunged for the bowl, not managing to swipe it from the assassins grasp, but getting two good handfuls, and leapt over the island, using it as cover as the assassin flung more globs in his direction.

He managed to get a hit when Hisoka peaked over the top of the island, but the clown retaliated with one of his own handfuls landing squarely on Illumi’s shoulder where he hadn’t quite managed to dodge.

The battle continued for several minutes- Illumi flipping through the kitchen flinging batter at Hisoka, and the clown flinging right back, using strawberry slices as throwing stars when he ran out of batter ammunition. It only ended after Hisoka executed a complex acrobatic leap that yanked Illumi forward and Bungee-Gummed him to the ceiling. Apparently, Hisoka had covered the strawberries in Bungee Gum before he had thrown them and had subsequently attached Bungee Gum to him when they hit.

Illumi frowned.

He hadn’t known they were allowed to use nen.

This fight would have ended a whole lot sooner if he’s known that. He supposed that most of his nen abilities were more on the lethal/take-over-your-mind/you-wont-get-up-again side, so that may have been for the best, considering he had just spent so much time trying to save the stupid clown.

Why had he done that again?

Illumi stared down at Hisoka.

The clown was sitting on the counter covered in pancake batter. A smile lightly graced his face, and he was panting slightly, though if it was because of their fight or an effect of the poison still working itself out of his system, Illumi did not know. He looked so different than how he usually presented himself. He was always either immaculately made up, with perfect clothes, makeup, and general swagger, or he was deep into the throws of his bloodlust, covered in blood with wide eyes and a devilish grin.

The Hisoka that sat in the kitchen with him now was neither of those, but Illumi found he did not mind. He was much less annoying when he wasn’t acting as the blustering fool or the murderous killer.

With a flamboyant (and entirely unnecessary) snap, Hisoka released his nen, and Illumi fell right into a glop of batter on the kitchen floor.

‘I take it back’ he thought, ‘there is no way for Hisoka to not be annoying.’ And as the fight started up again and he launched batter back and forth with the clown, trying in vain to keep his long hair free of the sticky substance, he almost believed it.

\-----

Milluki’s pancakes did eventually get made, after another 3 rounds of pancake fighting, a deep clean of the kitchen, and a successful (and annoyingly impressive) pancake flip by Hisoka.

The large stack of pancakes (with whipped cream and strawberries, courtesy of Hisoka) delighted Milluki, and Illumi assured him that the second half of his payment would come soon.

After all, he and the clown had some business to attend to in Yorknew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. I think it was pretty good. I liked it at least. I am not sure when the next chapter will come out, but it will definitely be before school starts for me. I will also get my epilogue for the [Thanksgiving one shot competition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792475/chapters/68038939) soon. Check that out if you haven't already. It was very fun for me and my editors and the stories there are pretty enjoyable if i do say so myself. 
> 
> Thanks again to anyone reading these, I always appreciate it and it is a boost for my (my sister says large) ego. Please feel free to leave a comment, they make me very happy and when I am bored i will go and reread them. i also usually respond to all of them, so feel free to chat as well (if i haven't responded to one then I have genuinely forgotten to: I apologize).
> 
> Thanks again


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Broski's
> 
> I hope you are all doing well. It is definitely a time and we are all feeling it. I start school again on Monday so i'm not sure if that is good or bad but whatcha gonna do. I hope to get 1 more chapter out by then. After that updates will probably be spotty so sorry in advance.
> 
> I hope you like this chapter! It is longer to make up for the last two which were pretty short.

Hisoka leaned against the door of Don Macario’s office, his most menacing stare leveled at the Don. This action was mainly for show, as it was Illumi who had taken over this interrogation.

After their pancake battle the night before, the two of them had returned to Illumi’s room to eat and figure out their next moves. It was obvious that someone was after Illumi, and Hisoka did not appreciate getting caught up in the crossfire (or that someone was going after his dear assassin).

The poisoning attempt was shoddy at best, and if Hisoka had not needed immediate attention, Illumi could have caught them and then this would have been over. But since he hadn’t, they needed to investigate.

There wasn’t much evidence for them to go off on, but it was certainly interesting that they had the cops called on them in the warehouse on the same day the poisoning had occurred. Both events happening within an hour of each other, no less. It was almost as if they were done by the same person- someone who knew where they were going to be.

And there was only one person besides the two of them and Illumi’s father that knew where the hit would take place: Don Macario.

Watching Illumi leaning over the desk in the middle of the room, a needle in hand and poised at the throat of the Don, Hisoka felt that being poisoned might have been worth it (Illumi really put the _ass_ in _ass-_ assin). Not only that, he had also finally gotten a half decent night’s sleep. 

He was very good at distracting himself during the day, but at night, not so much, and he often had nightmares. They weren’t so bad if he was completely exhausted when he went to bed, so he lived his life in a state of almost constant sleep deprivation. He learned very early on that white face paint was good for hiding eye bags (as well as that sweet, sweet color concealer).

Maybe he should ask Illumi to teach him how to build up an immunity to that poison stuff. That way he could slip a little into his food before bed and finally get some good fucking sleep.

Hisoka shook his head a little.

Back to the matter at hand: Illumi’s ass. Toned, pert, small but filling out his pants in just the right way.

Yeah, Hisoka liked that ass.

A needle lodged itself into the wood of the door by Hisoka’s head.

“Hisoka,” the assassin’s tone was tight (just like his ass), “we are here for a reason. Pay attention.” 

“Oh yes, my dear,” Hisoka bounded to the desk and pulled out a card, taking the assassin’s spot, placing it threateningly against Don Macario’s neck. He was using his sparkliest deck and it matched quite nicely with the diamond tie pin and gem encrusted watch worn by the Don.

Don Macario was short and fat, with thick brows and a serious expression. He seemed about 45 and wore a very expensive and impeccably tailored pinstripe suit. As he sat at his desk his ren was thick around him, stark and cold, like a frozen desert. 

Hisoka almost shivered when he felt it, but Illumi had warned him ahead of time.

The Don liked to keep an air of mystery about him so there was very little public information. One of his best kept secrets was, in fact, that his nen was actually quite weak; his deceptively menacing ren in combination with his multitude of bodyguards was enough to keep most people from daring to attack him. Anyone who did dare would swiftly be taken care of by said bodyguards, all of whom were very capable nen users.

Anyone who dared except for Hisoka and Illumi of course.

Illumi was pacing, circling around the desk. “So, Macario,” Illumi said from behind him, forcing the short man to crane his neck to look at him. “Why is it that you want me dead?”

“I don’t have any idea what you are talking about,” Don Macario spat in his gravelly voice. Hisoka pressed the card a little farther towards the throat, causing a drop of blood to pool at the tip.

“You know what you did. Pulling your little poison trick.”

Despite his tenuous position, Don Macario scoffed. “Poison? Now, why would I try to poison a Zoldyck.” His eyes flashed, “We both know that wouldn’t work.”

“So how is it that the would-be poisoner knew to find me at my Grandfather’s private room at La Pêche du Jour.”

“I’m not the only one that knows about your ‘secret’ room, you know?” The Don scoffed, “You Zoldyck’s aren’t that discreet when you aren’t trying to be.”

Illumi’s ren flared up at the impertinent response. He circled back around to the front of the table, placing both hands and leaning forward aggressively. Part of the assassin's chest was almost pressed against Hisoka’s back, who too was leaning over the table. 

The clown let out a little shudder. He hadn’t seen Illumi do an interrogation before, and he had to say that it made the assassin seem even more _enticing_ than usual.

Illumi ignored Hisoka, focusing all his bloodlust on Don Macario in front of him. “So, you are saying that it is a coincidence that my associate gets poisoned after a hit _You_ ordered.”

“What?” the Don’s ren waivered slightly.

“I said,” The assassin’s tone was harsh, “Jimmy McGee is dead by your order and you don’t know _what hit!_ ”

“Gentlemen, Gentlemen, it seems like we have a misunderstanding.” Hisoka card didn’t waiver from the mob boss’ neck as Macario lifted his arms into a placating position. “You were deceived, I haven’t called a hit from the Zoldyck’s since last year.”

“Is that so,” Illumi stepped back (much to Hisoka’s chagrin), arms folded, “and we are supposed to believe you _why?_ ”

“Why don’t you let me go and we can talk about it.” Macario spoke much more casually now, apparently no longer worried now that he knew the reason for the assassin and the clown’s presence in his office.

The assassin and the Don stared at each other for a few moments, sizing each other up. They apparently came to some sort of silent agreement as Illumi grabbed the back of Hisoka’s crop top (they had stopped by his apartment for a change of clothes) and tugged lightly.

The clown took a step back.

“Now that that unpleasant ordeal is over with, allow me to prove my innocence.”

The Don pulled out a sleek laptop and Illumi peered over his shoulder as he showed him various documents and files and things that Hisoka really didn’t care about, so he retreated back to his original place leaning on the office door.

He vaguely wondered if any of the Don’s bodyguards might be recovered enough for him to take them out again, when Illumi got his attention.

“Oh, is it time to go already?” Hisoka pushed himself off from the door.

Illumi nodded, and the two of them left the office making their way back to the roof where they had infiltrated from. Macario’s building was another skyscraper near the center of Yorknew. Along with other security measures, the location of the Don’s office a few floors down made it very difficult to infiltrate. For most people, that is.

For Hisoka and Illumi, the trip in was nearly as easy as the trip out.

“So, what do we do know.” Hisoka said, his blue colored hair shining in the early morning light.

He frowned. It was a shame that Illumi’s hair was put up in a bun. His inky locks would have looked wonderful in this lighting, though it would probably just get tangled, with how windy the rooftop was.

“I...” Illumi started, “I already transferred you the money for the McGee job, though, I guess it wasn’t a proper job.”

Hisoka never requested any money when Illumi recruited him for jobs, but the assassin always transferred him some anyway. Hisoka assumed that it had something to do with not wanting to be indebted to him, though the clown would never consider fighting with the other an obligation.

“This,” Illumi started again, “It doesn’t really have anything to do with you.” The assassin looked at him, in his eyes was something that Hisoka couldn’t quite place. The fact that he outwardly showed any emotion at all was surprising. “They are obviously after me, our mysterious poisoner. If you stay involved, you could be put in danger.”

Hisoka looked at the assassin, and a small grin spread across his face. “Are you kidding me? This is the most interesting thing to happen to me all year. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

That little expression disappeared from Illumi’s eyes once more and his face returned to its usual completely neutral look. “Well then, Don Macario is looking over his system, and I need to contact my father about the brief. We are going to be meeting around lunchtime to discuss any information that we find.” He raised one eyebrow slightly. “If you are sure you want to be a part of this, I’ll text you when we determine the place for our meeting.”

Hisoka nodded and that miniscule expression flickered across the assassins face again.

“You should go home and get some rest. I can tell that you aren’t fully recovered from the poisoning.”

“Aw, Illumi are you worried about me.” Hisoka’s outburst completely ruined the mood and the expression on the assassins face now was very obviously annoyance (How come _that_ was the only expression Illumi showed clearly, Hisoka pouted). “A little poison didn’t stop me from beating up all those bodyguards did it.”

“I took out more.” Illumi shot back.

“And you looked damn good doing it too.”

This statement was apparently the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, and one well-placed kick later Hisoka was falling over the side of the building (Illumi forgetting or not caring that the clown was still recovering).

Hisoka just laughed as he saved himself with a slap of bungee gum against a conveniently placed gargoyle. He made his way back to his apartment, and flopped onto his bed, removing his clothes and the texture surprise he had used as makeup on the way.

He was smiling as he went to bed, and for the 3rd sleep in a row, he had no nightmares.

\------

Illumi arrived at the café 30 minutes early, as was his custom with any outing or event he attended.

The crowded trendy café that he was seated in was not quite what he was expecting when Don Macario invited them out to lunch to discuss his findings, but the assassin was not wholly opposed. As it was a very public place, any would-be attackers would probably avoid engaging, and as it was no place where you would ever expect to find an assassin or a mob boss, it was unlikely that they would be spotted by anyone who mattered. He had fortunately been able to snag one of the few available tables, so he wasn’t forced to sit amongst the thrall of people shoved into the cramped room.

In his haste to get the table he had not been able to stop by the counter and order, so he could only look on enviously at the other patrons eating small overpriced ‘paninis’ and sipping equally overpriced lattes. If he left then his table would inevitably be stolen, so he could only hope that the Don would show up soon. (There was no way that Hisoka would show up early, so he did not hold up any hope of that happening.)

Fortunately for him, Don Macario was almost as punctual as he himself was and arrived at the café a crisp 15 minutes before the agreed upon time. They took turns going back and forth from the counter, and had just settled with their food, when Hisoka strode into the café.

Illumi smirked over his muffin. He had guessed perfectly correctly.

You see, expecting Hisoka would be grievously late, Illumi had actually pulled the tried and true tell-them-to-be-there-an-hour-before-you-actually-need-them-to-be-there method. (Well in this case the tell-them-to-be-there- _45-minutes_ -before-you-actually-need-them-to-be-there.) And, he had guessed exactly correctly, judging from the way he watched the clown saunter up to the checkout counter right on time (or rather, 45 minutes late).

After they were all situated with their food (a chocolate muffin for Illumi, a panini and an orange scone for Hisoka, and one of those really large cookies for the Don), the meeting began.

Don Macario placed a briefcase on the side of the table, opening it and handing a small stack of documents to Illumi.

“I’m sure you figured it out by now, but someone was impersonating me when that hit on McGee was called.” Macario eyed Hisoka who did not look like he was paying attention and was definitely going ham on his panini ~~_(Get it? Going ham? Cause there is ham on a panini?_ ) ~~

Hisoka had _not_ known, preferring to leave all this investigation stuff to Illumi, but nodded along sagely anyway.

Macario looked at him quizzically but continued. “What _we_ need to do is figure out who it is.”

“I have examined all communications my father had with the imposter.” Illumi started, “Unfortunately, the brief was sent from a burner device so that trail ends there.”

Don Macario scowled. Hisoka, who had finished his panini, got started on his scone.

“What is far more interesting,” Illumi continued, “is the money we were wired for the hit. As you know, the Zoldyck’s require a half of any payment to be paid up front. Though the assailant has neglected to send in the second installment, we still have the first. The money was moved around several accounts before it came to us, but with a little tracing we can probably determine its origin.”

Illumi took a sip of his coffee (black of course) glancing at Macario’s pinched expression. “I have already sent the account details to your email.”

“Good. I’ll get my best people on it right away.”

Illumi would have just gotten Milluki to do it, but it was far too soon to cash in another favor with his brother and he was trying to keep the incident on the down low with his family. This was the first time in several years that a job had gone south, and he did not want to be bothered with dealing with his father.

Silva had just personally completed an (admittedly impressive) assassination taking out the king of the Kakin Empire and hearing that Illumi had messed up the simple job of killing a few mobsters would feed his already egregious ego.

Don Macario was a reliable person, and he wasn’t a mob boss for nothing (his cutting intellect and ruthless leadership making up for any deficiencies he had in nen) so Illumi felt confident leaving the matter of tracking the money to him.

“Besides this, do you have any idea who might want to kill you?” Macario asked.

Illumi almost laughed. As an assassin you rack up a lot of enemies, though he assumed the mob boss could relate. He was about to begin listing off all of the impressively powerful and influential people that wanted him dead when Hisoka cut in.

“Dear?”

Illumi frowned slightly but ignored the term of endearment. He didn’t want to argue with the other in front of Don Macario, whose eyebrows had raised slightly.

“I seem to have finished my food,” Hisoka pouted, “I’m going to get some more. Do you want anything?

Besides his half-eaten muffin, the assassin had not eaten anything since the pancakes the night before, and he was admittedly rather hungry. It was lunchtime after all.

“I’ll take one of those sandwich things, I guess. And I’ll take some more coffee.”

“Black?”

The assassin nodded.

“Oh, and you Macario,” Hisoka said almost as an afterthought, “You want anything?”

“I think I’ll wait till I can get some real food.” The Don replied, dubiously looking at the greasy paper that had held Hisoka’s first sandwich.

Illumi noted that Macario had placed his still untouched cookie protectively by his briefcase but didn’t mention it. Instead, he began his list of people that wanted to kill him.

He was nearly done with his speech when Hisoka returned with their food.

The Don looked mildly disturbed by Illumi’s words. Illumi assumed it was because of how not thorough the list was, as these were only the people he could remember off the top of his head, and promised to send him a more comprehensive one later.

It was, in fact, because of the sheer magnitude of people that wanted to kill him (as a mob boss, Don Macario had enemies but this just seemed excessive), but Illumi did not quite catch up on this, casually sipping his coffee

Don Macario sighed, “How ‘bout you Mr. Morrow? It seems like you may have been caught up in this by accident, but we can’t rule out that the attacker may have a vendetta against both of you.”

Hisoka just laughed, launching into a list equally as long as the assassins (though with less influential people, Illumi noted with a smug satisfaction).

“You boys sure don’t mind making things difficult for me,” Don Macario noted, collecting his cookie and briefcase and standing.

“It’s a talent.” Hisoka responded, with a wide smile on his face.

“If that is what you want to call it.” Don Macario griped good-naturedly. “I’ll contact you when I find something,” the Don addressed Illumi.

“You two have a nice lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! We are probably about half way (maybe a little bit more) done with this fic now yayy!
> 
> Here is a fun fact. I am a very slow writer. For example this second half of this chapter (from where Illumi's pov starts) is about 1200 words, but it took me like 3 hours to write. The entire chapter is just under 3,000 so basically it took me forever to write it. Then after it is written it takes my editors a day or two (depending on how much they procrastinate) to edit. Then it takes me at least another hour to go over the edits and then probably a half hour to get everything ready to post. (and then i reread it and notice a typo and then die inside but that is besides the point)
> 
> I am not trying to be a complaining complainer but I do want you to know why it is taking so long to get chapters out (besides the fact that I am a procrastinator which you can feel free to roast me for). Again I am sorry that chapters will once again be released sporadically starting Monday, when spring semester starts (though i hope you get one more chapter out before then).
> 
> I think after this I'm going to stick to oneshots. they are nice and short. easy to write. I really like to read long fics (like >50,000) though and i have a deep and newfound respect for people who write such works. I'd love to hear some of your suggestions for fics in the comments if you feel like it.
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading and if you have anything to say about this chapter, please put it in the comments cause i really like to read them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long. I have to say that I really like this one, and I hope you do too!

Illumi bristled as he stared through the window of a shitty gift shop at the Yorknew airport, his eyes set on a deck of fancy cards. It was happening again. Ever since he had gotten panini’s with Hisoka back a week ago, Illumi found that he would be quite happily going about his day when he would see something, or someone would say something that reminded him of that infernal clown. And, then he would not be able to get him out of his head.

Like strawberries, for example. The berries, usually a staple in his gourmet butler made breakfasts, now just reminded him of their stupid pancake fight. He had to ask the butler to use blueberries instead. On top of that, if this interruption to his breakfast routine (it was the most important meal of the day) wasn’t bad enough, Illumi hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a week.

This was of course because of the fact that anytime he tried, he was struck by the realization that Hisoka had spent an  _ entire night _ in  _ his _ bed. Sure, the clown had been gravely injured and the sheets had been thoroughly washed since then (and not to mention that it was Illumi who put him there in the first place), but still. It was the principle of the thing. How was he supposed to sleep when whenever he tried, he ended up thinking about the stupid magician? It was far too distracting. Illumi briefly considered temporarily moving to one of the guest rooms, but he’d be damned if he let Hisoka oust him from his own bedroom (though it was certainly not the clown's intention to, as he had no idea that this was happening).

Now, as to  _ why _ this was happening, Illumi did not know, and he tried his best not to think about. It wasn’t like their panini outing the other day had been especially interesting. After Don Macario had left, the two had simply eaten their food while Hisoka recounted a random story from one of his various conquests (of the murder variety). It was all very mundane, but maybe that was the problem. He did not really have causal interactions with people that weren’t family members or butlers. He and Hisoka were... associates. And, it was normal to think about your associates, right?

Perhaps, Illumi pondered, but the amount of time he spent thinking about the other (a lot) and the amount of things that reminded him of the clown was frankly appalling: strawberries, pancakes, regular cake, candy, poison, the color pink, the color blue, killing things, anything circus related, anything  _ magician _ related, lipstick, his bed, and strangely, goats for some reason.

‘This is completely ridiculous’ Illumi thought, but that did not stop him from walking into the shabby gift shop in the YorkNew City airport.

He sighed, ‘I’m being stupid.’ But this did not stop him from picking out the deck he had been eyeing- black with an aesthetically iridescent design and with one of those fancy metal cases. On a whim, he grabbed a joke deck with farm animals as the card faces as well.

‘I have better things to spend my time and money on,’ he thought, but that did not stop him from waiting in the long line of the gift shop and whipping out his debit card to pay for his purchases.

It wasn’t until he was sitting in a taxi with a little white paper bag with a palm tree sticker that he realized what he had done (despite having been very aware of what he was doing in the moment).

Illumi grimaced. Well now it seemed he had cards. Cards, a useless game that he did  _ not _ play (or did not outside of the context of a casino assassination, at least). He supposed he could give them to Hisoka? With all that card throwing the clown did, he must go through them like hotcakes (pancakes, if you will).

‘Yes,’ Illumi decided. ‘I’ll give them to Hisoka.’ With his luck, however, the other would probably take the gift completely the wrong way. Illumi shook his head. No, this would be closure gift. He would give Hisoka the cards and then he could never think about him again.

‘Exactly, a closure gift.’ Illumi thought, getting out of the taxi in front of the small bar where he was to meet Don Macario and Hisoka for dinner to discuss the latest update on their search for the poisoner. Due to being waylaid by his purchase at the airport, Illumi was only 20 minutes early instead of his customary 30.

Don Macario was already there, along with a burly bodyguard (who seemed oddly familiar,) and they were seated at a table with 4 cups, a pitcher of beer, and a dry erase board and marker for some reason. He had hardly sat down with them, poured himself a glass of the beer, and made the customary greeting that you make when you are meeting people you don’t know all that well when, to his surprise, Hisoka arrived 5 minutes later (or more accurately, 15 minutes early).

Illumi’s eyes widened. It seemed he had miscalculated. He had once again used the tell-them-to-be-there- _ 45-minutes _ -before-you-actually-need-them-to-be-there method. But it seemed like he actually only needed to use the tell-them-to-be-there- _ 30-minutes _ -before-you-actually-need-them-to-be-there method. Hisoka did not seem to notice the assassin’s surprise, as he claimed the seat next to him and waved over to a waiter to bring him a fancy margarita.

‘Damn, I should have thought of that.’ Illumi frowned into his beer (it was not very good).

Hisoka, too, went around the table, greeting Don and his bodyguard and making much less awkward small talk than Illumi had a few minutes before, even finding out that the bodyguard was one of the ones they had knocked out on their way to the Don's office the week before. His arm brushed Illumi’s as he sat, but other than that, he was given the same greeting as the others, and the assassin couldn’t understand why this bothered him.

He decided to ignore it, instead enviously staring at Hisoka’s drink. It was alarmingly neon green that faded to dark blue at the bottom. There were orange juice pearls floating at the top and it was adorned with a little pink umbrella. Quite the fitting drink for the clown who was dressed as ostentatiously as usual. 

Illumi’s staring apparently wasn’t very subtle, as Hisoka waived his green monstrosity of a drink towards the assassin.

“Do you want a taste?~”

Illumi looked from the other’s vaguely glowing drink to his own piss colored beer. On the one hand, Hisoka’s drink definitely had his nasty clown germs. On the other hand, the little pink umbrella. 

‘Fuck it.’

He took the drink from the clown and took a sip. It tasted… artificial, but much better than his beer, so he took another. 

Hisoka was looking at him oddly during this whole exchange, but he was always odd, so Illumi thought nothing of it when he took his drink back and took a long sip.

“Gentlemen, it’s time to get down to business,” Don Macario clapped his hands together, snapping the two of their attention back to him. “I bet you are wondering why we are meeting here.”

Illumi nodded, he  _ had _ been wondering that.

The Don held up a finger, “First, I need to update you on the search for your poisoner.” He put up another, “Second, we need to discuss some safety concerns. And most importantly,” he held up his third finger triumphantly, “that little stunt the two of you pulled last week messed up my guys pretty good. In fact, only Jonny here felt up to trivia night tonight, so as penance, you two are going to be my makeshift teammates, and you better be prepared. Cause I don’t intend to lose.”

\------

Hisoka gazed fondly at the assassin next to him as the other scribbled furiously on a dry erase board. Several turns ago they had been banned from speaking to the announcer after Illumi had argued with him about an answer for the 3 rd time. Now they were only allowed to communicate with him via dry erase board, and Illumi was taking well advantage of this as he scribbled out his explanation as to why his answer was right and the announcers was wrong.

Since the last time Hisoka had done anything trivia related had been a disaster, he decided to stay out of it for the most part this time. This did not stop Illumi, however, and a competitive side that Hisoka had not known he possessed came out in full force.

This particular question was on the revolutionary war of the Republic of Padokea. All Hisoka knew about it was what he had seen watching old black and white movies on the small television of the old kindly janitor that had worked at the circus where he grew up.

The movies all focused on a young general that had rallied the people against their tyrannical leader. But because of the government’s superior strength and money the rebels couldn’t overtake them, and it seemed as if they would lose the war, along with all of their lives. That is, until the young general lead a small platoon of soldiers into the capitol building and killed the dictator and his cabinet. This turned the tide of the war and the rebels emerged victorious.

That had been the old man’s favorite part. When the rebels emerged from the capitol building, bloody and haggard, but victorious. One of Hisoka’s fondest memories from his youth was watching those movies and hearing the old man yell at tv, as the rebel leader lifted his fist in triumph.

‘Whatever happened to that old man?’ Hisoka thought, offhandedly. 

‘Oh yeah... he’s dead. Just like everyone else at that miserable circus.’ 

The clown was saddened for a moment, but then he remembered. The janitor had known what was happening to him, the abuses he had suffered at the hands of his ‘father.’ The whole circus had known, and they had done nothing. 

Any guilt that Hisoka felt faded away as quickly as it appeared, and he took a long sip from his drink, a new one since Illumi had finished off the first one. He’d offered to buy the assassin one of his own, but he had declined, instead continuing to sip on Hisoka’s.

The clown laughed a little. The ironic thing was that those movies apparently weren’t accurate at all, and most history books weren’t as well. It turned out, as Hisoka learned from the dry erase board that his assassin was now shoving in the announcer’s face, that it was actually Illumi’s great great grandfather, Ozias, that had assassinated the dictator and his crew. And it wasn’t even for any political reason. The dictator had apparently set up a small military base on the foot of Kukuroo Mountain. Illumi’s great great grandfather sent him a formal letter asking him to remove the soldiers as they were on private Zoldyck land, and that went against the family policy. After a month with no response, Ozias went to the capitol building when the dictator and all of his cabinet were in session and asked them to move off his land. The dictator had only laughed at him and 5 minutes later him and his cabinet were dead. 5 months later, the war was over, the rebels had won.

The trivia question they had just gotten wrong was: Who killed the dictator? It was supposed to be a trick question, with the answer being no one really knows, though all the dramas say it was the rebel leader. Illumi had of course put down Ozias Zoldyck, as that is the correct answer. The trivia announcer was less than convinced, and currently, Illumi was furiously texting Milluki to take a picture of the dictator’s official broach. Ozias had taken it on a whim, and Silva now used it as a paperweight.

Hisoka found this too quite amusing, but it had gone on long enough.

“Illumi.”

The assassin did not appear to hear him.

“Illumi,” The clown tried again, this time grabbing his hand to stop his texting.

The assassin shot him a withering look, “Unhand me.”

Hisoka just smiled. “Illumi this is the 4 th time this has happened,” he said peaceably. “Now, you and I know that the Zoldyck’s have a long and rich family history.”

Illumi’s eyes were dark, swirling as they ever did, and his eyelashes fluttered in annoyed acknowledgement.

“But dearest, you seem to be forgetting that your family is also very secretive… ah, I mean  _ private.  _ You think that these common people would understand a family as mighty and regal as yours.”

He thought he was laying it on a little thick, but this seemed to placate the assassin and he put his phone back down on the table. Conspicuously, what he did not do was let go of Hisoka’s hand, holding it lightly under the table till the game ended. Illumi did not look at him during any of this time, but if he did, he would see that the smile that Hisoka always wore seemed a little more genuine than usual.

Despite Illumi’s blunders and Hisoka’s complete unhelpfulness, Don Macario and Jonny turned out to be trivia gods and they won the game by a landslide. (Hisoka had only contributed to one question about an obscure candy bar but decided that this victory totally made up for his poor showing on Jimmy McGee’s show and celebrated as such.)

“Well, that was wonderfully refreshing,” Don Macario said, wiping the sweat that he had accumulated in the heat of the competition off his brow.

Hisoka had to agree. He had gotten to see a passionate Illumi, and even hold his hand for a time, though the assassin still wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“I guess we should get to the reason that the two of you are here.” The Don pulled out his briefcase from underneath the table and pulled out a few documents that he handed to Illumi.

“We were able to trace the origins of that bank account that you gave us. It belongs to the son of some diplomat. He goes to that fancy university just outside the city. Doesn’t seem to have any ties with the Zoldyck family, nor could I find a reason for him to want to kill you Mr. Morrow.” He nodded to Hisoka. “My best guess is that the person behind this is someone this kid knows. The kid gives them access to his bank account. The poisoner makes the payment to you Zoldyck’s. Then he either paid the kid back or stiffed him with the bill.” The Don shrugged. “Either way, the kid knows something. Now, I’d go and ask the kid myself, but I got something to do, you know, mob stuff.”

‘Mob stuff,’ Hisoka thought, ‘seems reasonable.

“I’ve got intel that says that the kid always eats lunch with his girlfriend at that fancy seafood restaurant down on 5 th street Wednesdays, and lucky for us, that is tomorrow.” He turned to Illumi, “I am sure you can get the information that we need out of him, right?”

There was a pause where Illumi’s expression, which had settled back down to his normal blankness, shifted slightly as if to say ‘duh.’

“Of course, you can.” The Don rolled his eyes. “Just email me with what you find out, and I’ll see what I can do with it. Let’s make plans to meet again next week, but if the intel we get is good, then this whole thing could be done within a few days. Trust me when I say I want this person impersonating me to be dead as quickly as possible.”

Within a few days?

Hisoka hadn’t realized that it would be that soon, and his grip on the assassin’s hand tightened imperceptivity. Or so he thought, as Illumi turned and met his gaze for the first time since their hands touched initially.

‘It’s nothing,’ Hisoka thought, and the other seemed to understand as he turned back towards the Don.

“And that brings me to my last point. We have not seen our target make any moves since the poisoning. He is obviously trying to cover his tracks, but it is only a matter of time before he tries to take out one of you out again. Now am I right in that you have an apartment here in YorkNew, Mr. Morrow?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then I suggest that Mr. Zoldyck stay with you there tonight and until we kill our man. You, Mr. Zoldyck, need to be here tomorrow anyway to interrogate that kid, and his apartment would be far safer than a hotel. Plus, since you guys are going out it should be fine.”

Hisoka’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “We, we are not..”

“Fine,” Illumi interrupted him. “I’ll report back to you with what we find tomorrow.”

“Well then gentlemen, this is where I will take my leave. I’m not as young as I used to be, and it is well past my bedtime. Jonny?”

And with that the Don and his bodyguard left the bar, leaving the clown and the assassin still holding hands under the table and apparently headed for Hisoka’s apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks so much waiting on me when it takes me so long to get new chapters out. 
> 
> I don't really have much to say in this time so, Thanks again for reading! I hope you have a good day!


End file.
